Yes, Fern does grow up a little at the fair. She goes running off with Avery, meets up with Henry Fussy, and spends most of her time riding the Ferris wheel. Wilbur just can't compete with the lure of a boy. A little later in the book, Fern says, "The most fun there is . . . is when the Ferris wheel stops and Henry and I are in the top car and Henry makes the car swing and we can see everything for miles and miles and miles."
Another place where little girls grow up is summer camp. I picked my daughter up from Bible camp this morning. As I pulled my Ford Freestyle into the camp, I started looking for her. Didn't see her. I parked and got out of the car. She came walking up to us, wearing a boy's flannel shirt.
"Where'd you get that shirt?" I asked.
"Oh," she said, "it's Bradley's."
"Do you need to return it?" I said.
"No," she said, "he said I could keep it."
She's been wearing that damn shirt all day. Plus, she's been texting on her phone like crazy. Daddy isn't liking Bradley too much right now. I'd prefer my little Fern to be sitting on a stool near Wilbur's pen, if you get my meaning. Of course, my daughter assures me that Bradley's "just a friend." Mmm-hmm. And Hilary Clinton's just plugging her new book on Meet the Press. No other hidden agenda.
It's not like I expect my daughter to stay cloistered and innocent for the rest of her life. (Of course, a cloistered convent is not a bad option.) I know she's growing up, and there are going to be a lot of Henrys and Bradleys in her future. She could have just been a little less blatant about it this morning.
Well, my last Billy Collins poem sort of sums up my feelings tonight. It's about a fairy princess trading in her tower for something a little more grown up.
Saint Marty's fairy princess traded her tower in for a boy's flannel shirt today.
Girl
by: Billy Collins
Only a few weeks ago,
the drawings you would bring in
were drawings of a tower with a fairy princess
leaning out from a high turret,
a swirl of stars in the background,
and bright moons, distant planets with rings.
Then yesterday you brought in
a drawing of a scallion,
a single scallion on a sheet of white paper--
another crucial step
along the path of human development,
I thought to myself
as I admired the slender green stalk,
the white bulb, and the little beard
of roots that you had penciled in so carefully.
Confessions of Saint Marty
Searching for a poem, "Your Tired, Your Poor" by Lisel Mueller, I discovered your blog. Serendipity.
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