We were driving to drop off Ava the other morning, and a couple blocks from the daycare, I saw a man walking hand-in-hand with his daughter. She looked to be about 9 or so, I guess.
I’m still trying to figure it out, but there was something intimidating about the sight of them together. Or, if not intimidating, maybe a bit panic-inducing. As we drove on toward “school,” I wondered about the day that Ava comes home from school and is smarter than her parents. Hopefully, it’ll be sometime after fourth grade.
To my surprise, I wasn’t so worried about my daughter surpassing my vast intellectual capacity as I was concerned that I wouldn’t be able stimulate her. Or inspire her. I looked at this little girl walking with her father, and she seemed so focused and upright. When I first saw them, in fact, I wasn’t sure if the gentleman might have simply had a short wife. But the Dora the Explorer backpack gave it away. I wondered what they talked about at home. I contemplated how that father answered his daughter’s questions in such a way that would not only provide an answer, but that would feed her hunger for the learning process at the same time.
It’s at once funny and disconcerting the way these emotions come over me now, when I don’t recall any such episodes occurring before Ava was born. Can I be the parent Ava needs? I feel like I’m doing a fairly good job now, but her needs are so basic. I can only hope I’ll find my own 13-year-old somewhat less emotionally mysterious and intellectually frightening than the 13-year-old girls I knew when I was that age. They say boys mature more slowly than girls, so I should be caught up to Ava just about the time she hits adolescence.