What a Difference a Day Makes: 

Seeing My Daughter as a Young Adult Lady

 

Recently, my daughter and our family experienced a major American rite of passage. We traveled to the American South to move her into her college dormitory. She successfully transferred into the school that she greatly desired to attend, the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Founded in 1789, the year that coincides with the founding of the American federal republic, UNC Chapel Hill is the oldest public university in the United States. It is one of the crown jewels of American higher education. Beyond its endless list of distinctions and accolades borne of two hundred and thirty-three years of progressively qualitative education in the liberal arts, natural sciences and emerging fields, it is the school that is right for my daughter. After the brisk passage of the summer months, the first Friday in August dawned.

 

We awoke to frustrating and regrettable news that the airline had cancelled our meticulously scheduled flights. My daughter, my wife and I separately called the airlines and vacation vendors to salvage our departure time. Initially, their personnel rebuffed us with arrogance, indifference and extremely poor customer service. Our three hours of persistence yielded a delay of five and a half hours from our original departure time. Our excitement did not wane. We secured the house and completed our last-minute packing before the Uber arrived. Thirty minutes later, we put our bags on curbside at the City’s larger airport. Then, we navigated the revolving doors to begin the trek of paying for claimed bags and passing through security. This part of air travel disillusions the most optimistic person. It seems like a full-time job to take off your shoes, remove your belts and watches, empty your pockets, take off any jackets, fleeces or sweatshirts, take out your computers, tablets, keys and phone, put them in plastic bins and wait to pass through scanning machines. Exasperation increases as the people before you in line move ever so slowly. The TSA agents appear lackadaisical. You feel as if there must be a better way of ensuring the security of airline passengers. Finally, to your pleasant and anticlimactic surprise, you surmount these challenges with a silent and personal pledge to drive next time regardless of the distance. Once you arrive at the gate are, you simply face another set of traveling hurdles.

 

At the gate, we encountered persons who used more space than they needed. They laid their bags, food and other belongings across a few chairs thereby preventing families like ours from sitting together. Some parents failed to watch and discipline their children who ran rambunctiously around the seats as if they were on a playground. I had the misfortune of sitting next to a guy who was using his phone to reinforce music and vocal lessons. I surmised that he had embarked upon a losing cause as his voice and the music sounded irrefutably incongruent. The disciplines of time, practice and affirmations could not remedy that situation. Inexplicably, I failed to ask him to stop. Was I too afraid to do so? Did I not wish to cause a disturbance? Did I fear offending this man? My irritation certainly fueled these thoughts even though I failed to act upon them. Nonetheless, our boarding time came after a day of delays and other comedies of error. As we stood in line, I glanced at my daughter whom I still saw as my “Baby Girl,” an older adolescent. That thought and image of her continued throughout the flight. It was as if we were leaving her for an extended stay at summer camp. Upon arrival at the Raleigh Durham Airport, I would have a mystical moment in which I irreversibly saw her in a new light.

 

The epiphany that my adolescent daughter is now a young adult collegian occurred in the baggage claim area. I chose to stand near the luggage carousel and retrieve the one bag that she tagged. As I waited for her formidable green suitcase holding a semester’s worth of clothes, I glanced over to my daughter to confirm that I was about to take the right bag. In that instant, I no longer saw a girl but an adult collegian. In that moment, I realized that my “Baby Girl” had grown up and become a young woman. Then, I thought about the trip. I left the City with my older adolescent daughter. I arrived five states later with a young collegian. What a difference a day makes. Prior to that flight, she passed the road test and obtained her driver’s license. She began to drive herself to work. Her initiative-taking means of getting to work were an outgrowth of her fierce work ethic. Her diligence in her studies in high school and her first year and a half at another college culminated in her successful transfer to UNC Chapel Hill. There are additional achievements that attest to her inner fortitude, determination, ambition, intelligence and gifts. These personal, academic and work accomplishments are fruit of her maturity and preparation for that flight on the first Friday in August. Indeed, I looked across the baggage claim area and saw my young adult daughter, a second-year collegian, and not the vulnerable toddler who latched onto my legs during speaking engagements. Not surprisingly, memories of her first days of childcare, kindergarten and school, her learning to ride a bike, her high school choral performances, her coming to the car at the end of a party and a thousand other reflections flooded my mind for an instant. Those images disappeared into the sands of time and yielded to the present canvass which depicted a young lady who is ready to complete her collegiate career and embark upon her personal and professional path.

 

During the next two days, we were in and out of Target, Wal-Mart, Belk Lindsey, Bed Bath & Beyond and other stores. We saw numerous families who were fellow pilgrims on this journey of accepting a new normal in the parent and child relationship and readjustment of family composition and living arrangements. Intermittently, we stopped and feasted upon delicious Southern cuisine including fried okra, barbecue, sweet potato biscuits, cheesy grits, “real” bacon and an assortment of cakes and pies particularly peach. My son and I did the dutiful heavy lifting and cleaning. We wiped each inch of the walls on her side of the room. She insisted upon a redo of the shower and bathroom though the university facilities staff had done a respectable job. In the early afternoon on Monday, it was evident that we had fully moved her into her room. We would leave her to decorate her side of the room with her distinctive style and flare. From her elementary school days, she possesses a gift of design, fashion, space and color coordination. The moment of finality arrived. I am proud of myself in that I did not cry. My daughter had a joyous smile on her face. Her happiness and excitement overshadowed any silent sadness, anxiety or apprehension. In that instant, I hugged her tightly and said, “Baby Girl, I am so proud of you. I am so proud of you.” I then turned and left the room to allow her brother and mother their private moment. In that moment, I realized that I did not leave an adolescent on the other side of the door but a young adult collegian.

 

The pride of the Chapel Hill community is unparalleled and infectious. Though I am a loyal alumnus of my alma mater, I find myself essentially cheerleading for my daughter’s school. My pride in her and her achievements spill over into conversations with my relatives, friends and contemporaries. It also morphs into raucous enthusiasm for the school. A trip to the student store punctuated my newfound feeling for UNC Chapel Hill. It further crystalized my reflections on this post. I did not buy any clothing, car decals, hats or decorative ware. The one item that I had to buy was a mug which reads, “Carolina Dad.”