Today marks the end of a sense of childhood. The passing of “parenting”. We are now merely guides. Our youngest hit the 17th year mark and is doing it with her own quiet style.

Our daughters are so much the same and yet so different. Bug is socially active while Red is reserved if not a little weird, in a good way.

She’s always been so headstrong and slave to routine but on the other hand her artistic ability knows no bounds. Red is someone that needs to be pushed but don’t tell her what or how to do it. Frustrating? You betcha.

She is sweet, respectful, loves kids, and has always had a wicked sense of humour. She perfected sarcasm at the age of three.

The world will bow to this one but only if she decides it should.

And next year she is off to college/university.

It’s funny how the transition from child to adult is like a launching pad for the child. The threshold of something new. uncharted territory. They become Dr. Livingston of the rest of their lives.

While the same moment, for the parents, feels like the edge of the platform for a bungee jump. No, scratch that, not bungee, maybe a slow, down escalator with endless elevator music.

We watch from the ground as our children streak, meteoric across the sky and we remember that ride. But we also remember not fully appreciating it because we were caught up in living it. To us, at that time, it was just another day and we raced for the next.

So with a sense of pride and a pinch of envy, we usher Red into the next stage. But part of me still sees that little imp with the fuzzy red hair that was never long enough to curl her chubby little fingers in. That part of me wants her to still be that imp.

Happy Birthday Red! You are going to set the world on fire.