August 29: "Litany," My Daughter, Medical School

I received a phone call this afternoon from my daughter.

She had just opened an email informing her that she has been accepted for early admission to Central Michigan University's medical school.  Last Friday, she had a two-hour Zoom interview with the faculty of the school.  At the end, they told her that they had several more groups of students scheduled for interviews and would make their final decisions in early October.  One week later, she's in.

My reaction?  I cried, of course.  Near the end of our conversation, my little girl said to me, "Daddy, it finally seems real.  I'm going to be a doctor."  

My little girl is going to be a doctor.

Billy Collins displays his devotion . . . 

Litany

by: Billy Collins

          You are the bread and the knife,
          The crystal goblet and the wine...
          -Jacques Crickillon

You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron of the baker,
and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.

However, you are not the wind in the orchard,
the plums on the counter,
or the house of cards.
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.

It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,
maybe even the pigeon on the general's head,
but you are not even close
to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.

And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the boots in the corner
nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.

It might interest you to know,
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the sound of rain on the roof.

I also happen to be the shooting star,
the evening paper blowing down an alley
and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.

I am also the moon in the trees
and the blind woman's tea cup.
But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife.
You will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and—somehow—the wine.

My daughter has been the bread and the knife, the crystal goblet and the wine in my life since that snowy morning in December when I first held her in my arms.  Billy Collins equivocates, spending most of the poem saying what his "you" is NOT. 

Tonight, I'm telling you what my daughter IS:  she's one of the most principled, honest, empathetic young people you will ever meet.  She cares about and loves everyone.  It's been one of the biggest privileges of my life to have a part, however large or small, in shaping her as a person.

Pride doesn't even touch what Saint Marty's feeling tonight.