if i count those falling parasols correctly, there appear to be just about eighteen of them. one for every year of my daughter’s life, today, on her eighteenth birthday. the years have fallen away as lightly and with as little impact, it seems, as dandelion fluff. she came out howling. wore some diapers. displayed a certain attitude. ran funny on the soccer field. made some good friends and some uninspired friends. fell in love with lakes and oceans. learned french. learned to bake. found a certain sense of self. insisted on her independence. got a car. edited the school newspaper. got a job. caused us fewer problems than we deserved. she’s a good one. she’s heading good places. i hope, on this birthday that also happens to be mother’s day, that i get to spend a lot more of my life in her company, and in the company of people she loves.

dandelion

saint paul, minnesota