Stephen Lindsay: ‘My little girl’ makes her parents proud

Today is my daughter’s 18th birthday. Christine, a senior at Post Falls High School, is a good kid. I’m proud of her and grateful for the person she is.

In our society, 18 is quite a milestone. It’s hard to believe, but here she is, legally an adult. She can go out and get herself deep into debt with all those credit card offers she’ll be getting. If she had been 39 days older, she could have voted. She wouldn’t have because none of the candidates was cute enough, but she could have.

If it were up to me, she’d just now be old enough to drive. For her, that came four years ago, and although I opposed it, she has handled that responsibility well. None of the three wrecks were her fault. Much to her chagrin, she must still wait three years to consume alcohol, legally at least. But she has figured out the clubs and casinos that allow 18-year-olds to party there. That’s where she’ll be tonight after a solemn and too-slow birthday dinner with Mom and Dad.

She has a list of “things to do once Mom and Dad can’t say no.” Boy, do I have news for her. The state of Idaho may consider her adult enough to make major decisions on her own, but I know that “my little girl” still has a lot to learn about life.

Christine has big plans for her future; she just doesn’t know what they are yet. But she’s in a big hurry to get there, where ever there may be. It’s both a frustrating and an exhilarating time. I’m not so sure, though, that she can even tell the difference between those two yet.

I don’t remember a whole lot about turning 18. Christine wonders if they even kept historical records back then. I do recall facing the draft, the Vietnam War, and Kent State that year – she’ll have to ask me about Kent State, and maybe even Vietnam. As she reaches adulthood, I have to ask her about iPods, texting, and what the hell that stuff is she calls music. Well, I guess that I do recall more about my 18th than I thought. I answered similar, but different questions – except the music question was the same.

It seems that Christine has been looking ahead to this day her whole life. We said in junior high that she was 13 going on 20. She can’t understand now why she’s wasting her time still in high school and is not off in college in some exotic place. When she does get there, she’ll be ready to be out in a career with lots of meaning, lots of satisfaction, and plenty of money.

Getting to this point, Christine, we’ve had plenty to laugh about. All the times you tried to lock me out of my car, and failed. The time I went through the car wash and put your window down. The many times you’ve called to ask a favor, forgetting that I was in Portland that week. The fall you went to get your snow tires put on, only to find out from the baffled-looking mechanic that they were already on – having forgotten to remove them the spring before, despite your mother’s incessant reminders.

And Christine, we’ve had plenty to wonder about. In particular, some of your hair color combinations, some of your boyfriends, and some of your ideas for vacation trips – without parental supervision. We’ve never questioned your daring and determination: Like the time as a preschooler that you got up early, got yourself dressed, and headed out on the two-mile walk to my work; like the gymnastics presentation where you wouldn’t be distracted, no matter what your leotard was doing, or not doing, on your rear; like your efforts to keep the local orthopedic surgeons busy with your snowboarding and gymnastics injuries.

But Christine, we’ve also had plenty to be proud of. I was not really surprised the night that I received the 1 a.m. phone call to come and get you from that underage drinking party. I was not surprised either, however, to find out, as one set of parents was practically carrying their intoxicated daughter to their car, that you had not been drinking. In fact, I got a compliment from the police officer on what nice manners you had. That surprised me a little.

So, happy birthday Christine! I love you, and I’m proud of you. You’ll make a remarkable adult, just as you’ve been an extraordinary child and teen. You’ll challenge the world, just as you’ve challenged your mother and me. And you’ll leave your mark on the world, just as you’ve left it on your mother and me. Remember, though; don’t stay out too late tonight.