CONFIRMATION

So. You turned 13.

I was in the process of writing an essay about my first hunting experience that happened when I turned 13. I thought it was timely, what with the Vice President shooting a guy like I almost did in 1977. But that's a story for another day.

I was thinking about turning 13 and the whole notion of coming of age, and I couldn't get my mind off of you. Before my very eyes you have become a young woman. When I see you, when I think about you, it shatters me. You devastate me with your beauty and paralyze me with fear. You are a mystery that is daily unfolding, then refolding, then surprising me with a whole new angle. Pubescent origami.

I remember that as a baby, and then as a toddler, you were bald. People thought you were a boy, even when you were festooned with pink frilly things. You were hard to figure out even then.

As soon as you could speak and hold on to an opinion, you expressed your disappointment that you had not been born black.

I remember the moment the U.S. women's soccer team won the 1999 World Cup. Brandi Chastain ripped off her jersey as a group of us erupted in cheers. You retreated to the corner with your arms crossed and a sour expression on your face.

"What's wrong, honey?" I asked.

You turned your defiant little six-year-old face toward me and said, "I'm mad. I wanted China to win."

I told that story to my university hosts in China a few years later. They are probably still talking about you.

"You come back next year and bring Daughter Number Two with you!" declared Mr. Mu triumphantly.

Your kindergarten teacher said that if she were planning a party she would most definitely invite you.

I remember the times you join me for a walk around the neighborhood, and you can't stop talking. Then, sometimes you join me for a walk or a ride in the car and we can be together for long periods of time with comfortable silence resting between us.

I love watching you grow from a baby to the person dozens of adults turn to first to care for their babies. Little kids look at you like you're Willy Wonka and they just found the golden ticket.

I love your strong will. It often manifests itself in protests against the daily required piano practicing, but all I can really hear is the way you make me feel when you lose yourself in music.

I love how you love innocence. Children and old people. Anyone who might be considered vulnerable. You have always favored the underdog, the least of these. You despise injustice like a Hebrew prophet.

I love that you love the presence of your friends, but how you can be absolutely content in solitude.

I love how adults who know you get a certain glimmer in their eyes when they talk about you. You seem to bring out the mischievous impulse in everyone. They know you are an outlaw...in the best kind of way. You evoke a yearning in them. They sense that you will have the courage to say and do things they would never dream of. That's the part that scares me. It fills me with pride and frightens me at the same time. That's what I love about you.

If we were Jewish, you would have a bat-mitzvah (Actually, I think bar-mitzvahs are at 13 and bat-mitzvahs are actually at 12.). Instead, the only tangible sign of your age is a confirmation class at church, where you are learning from a fantastic woman pastor how to come at God from an uncommon perspective.

You are confirming who you are in the world and what you believe. At this moment and in this space I also confirm something: I cannot imagine my life without you.

I know there are times you would rather not have me around. You're 13. I get that. But I remember what you used to say to me when you were three or four: "Go away in the house." You didn't want me in your face, but you needed me nearby.

Well, dear, I will try to give you the space to become a woman. May you grow into everything God has dreamed for you. May you learn to love foolishly and fight recklessly. May all that passion and ferocity and mischief in you ignite holy fires. May there always be evidence that you were in the area.

Okay. I'm going to go away now and leave you alone.

But I will always be right here.