In honor of a certain young lady’s milestone…
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“You’re going to be late,” the father said.
His daughter rolled her eyes. “We’ve got plenty of time, Daddy.” She put the finishing touches on her mascara.
“You should drive to school,” the mother said.
“Mooom,” the daughter said, wilting. “I’m going to be fixing my hair.”
“I’ll drive,” the father said. “If we ever get going….”
The daughter growled as she applied lipstick.
The son came up from the basement with his backpack. “So, Ms. T-Rex is a senior,” he snided. “The only good thing is that you’ll be gone by the time I’m a freshman.”
“Lucky for you, you little genetic deviation,” the daughter said.
“I pity the kids who do have to suffer under your reign of terror,” the son said. He headed for the door. “Try not to let the power go to your head.”
The traffic was heavy around the high school. “Take the back way, Daddy,” the daughter said, as she ratcheted her hair taut.
The father maneuvered around the curve of the passenger loading lane, stopped. “I’m going over to Bethany’s after school,” the daughter announced, as she opened her door.
The father handed her her backpack, but held on to it for a second as she tried to take it. “Just remember,” he said, when she gave him a questioning look. “With great power come great responsibility.”
“Daaaddy,” the daughter said, rolling her eyes again. She took the backpack and slammed the door.
He watched her walk away. Seventeen years before he had carried a tiny baby up to the neonatal unit, frightened in a way he had never been frightened before. He wished he could tell his younger self how well everything had worked out. But then, that would have spoiled the surprise.
The lady in the SUV behind him blared her horn.
Writing and other forms of suffering 