Slides, Bikes and Elephants

Alex graduated from the University of Iowa two weeks ago. It was a joyous, tear-filled event that poured buckets of pride over me and her father. Not only did she graduate from my favorite college in the whole wide world, and majored in a demanding field which I hold close to my heart, but she graduated holding a compass: a compass facing her true north. Today, she's in India. Well, maybe the compass was facing east.

The first time she mentioned this trip, my heart dropped out of my chest. Aren't you a journalist now, Alex? Don't you know that women get raped and murdered there? That was my knee-jerk maternal reaction. Anytime our kids tell us they're going to do something, anything, with an inkling of risk, my optimistic brain turns very dark. Obviously.

Alex was always a cautious little girl.

Once when my sisters-in-law and I took our kids to the park, I had to coax her to have fun. My nephew had gone down the slide at least ten times. Alex sat at the top, contemplating whether it was really safe to go down. I stood at the bottom, trying to convince her she'd be okay. I promised I would catch her. She'd watched Mitch go down with no notable injuries. She was still skeptical. Eventually, she scooted her way down – not the most fun way to enjoy a slide, but she did it. Then she did it again, with a little less scooting and a little more sliding.

Teaching Alex to ride a bike a few years later had a similar theme. I can't remember exactly how old she was, but everyone else her age had mastered it. Finally, Doug took over. I simply couldn't convince her that she'd be okay – even if she did fall. It was one of those times our kids needed someone who was a little less patient and a little more militant. Even with Doug in command, Alex was still tentative. "Dad, you promise you won't let go?" I think Doug was sneaky in his response. He said something like, "I won't let you get hurt." Reluctantly, she let him push her off. And, of course, he let go. For the next few seconds she had no idea he wasn't holding on to her. When she checked behind to see if he was still there, she wrecked. And despite not having one scratch from the fall, she was furious. "You let go!" While she wouldn't admit it (not even to this day), we suspected a bit of pride in the accomplishment.

Now, she's off to India to help a journalist friend with a story. I have no doubt her curious nature will always lead her to some interesting adventures. And while my heartburn has set in while she's across the world, I have no regrets of convincing our cautious little daughter to take some risks. I'm quite proud of it, actually. She's come a long way from slides and bicycles. Now, she searching for an elephant. Literally. She literally wants to ride an elephant.

I hope she does.

Tailgating: Then and Now

There's something proud and surreal about having a daughter attend your alma mater. These sentiments are expressly felt during that great festival known as tailgating. Last weekend the Iowa Hawkeyes opened their football season in Iowa City, and I found it impossible not become nostalgic and observe how quickly things change in 25-ish years.

Compare and contrast a young tailgater to one who is more seasoned:

Then: Drinking was a race: something to be conquered by 10:00 AM. There are no consequences–none that you'll remember anyway.
Now: Drinking is a strategy. Pacing and water are critical for an enjoyable day.

Then:

Food can wait. Dominos is open late.
Now:What are we going to eat? Let's plan. Procure the grill. Buy the burgers and brats. Bake something that won't melt in ninety degrees. For God's sake, bring plenty of food.

Then:With no uncertainty, someone is going to puke. Watch your tipsy step.
Now: Regrettably you forget that someone will puke, until it's a step too late. (Good luck on those flip flops Ann.)

Then: 

You wonder why anyone over the age of 40 would sit in the Sports Column, and bring their high school sons. 

Now: You become distinctly aware of your age as you want nothing more than to stomp over to the DJ at the Sports Column and demand to lower the volume. And do something about that drunk spilling my son's Sprite!

Then: Boys are an emphatic nuisance whose filters become lost in a deluge of drink. You don't appreciate the flattery of their bawdy attention.

Me and my college roomie. Some time ago.

Now: Boys look over your head, unless of course you're Ann Heithoff  and get invited to party with a group of college lads at the ATM. 

My mommie friend Ann and me. Saturday.

Then: You catch a fleeting glance the middle age alumni who stake out their places in their fancy cars and RVs and think to yourself, "Awe. That's so sweet."
Now: You remember when you were a college student and noticed those old people. And you can't believe you became one. It's a little sad. But it's a lot great.

Tailgate and carry on.