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Are These the Little Girls I Carried? By Lyla Blake Ward
Last year, when my younger daughter Belinda turned 65, I suddenly realized: we are all seniors. Amazing and wonderful — but weird, right? Of course, this didn't just happen. I've known for a long time she and her sister Gina, 68, were growing up. I couldn't help but notice Gina, teaching her grandchildren to ride their bikes, is the spitting image of the girl I taught to pedal her first tricycle. Or that Belinda, with the shelf full of Emmy Awards for her work in children's television, bears an uncanny resemblance to that young girl who won a prize for an essay she wrote in fifth grade. If you find yourself, unbelievably, the mother of could-be retirees, your first instinct may be to wring your hands and wail: Where has the time gone? Since I am one of the lucky ones whose memory is intact, I don't have any trouble recalling times gone by; my problem, in relation to my daughters, is reminding myself, at this point, they know as much (well almost as much) about life as I do. I did use our times together when they were children — maybe 9 or 10 — to let them know how I saw things. Very often, one or the other or both would hang out in the kitchen with me as I prepared dinner and advanced my philosophy on money, marriage, and feminism: equal rights forever! A good part of what my daughters know, and I do not, is the result of having been in the business world. They have dealt with sometimes difficult bosses or decision makers, negotiated contracts, and met new associates as they traveled wherever the job took them.
Lyla Blake Ward with her daughters Gina, left, and Belinda
I have to recognize that my "girls" are now women. They have had children, run households and had long successful careers. I have complete confidence in their ability to handle the most delicate situations. Yet, every so often, when one of these undisputedly mature women is helping me load the dishwasher after dinner, I have the uncontrollable urge to say: Don't forget — anything plastic goes on the top shelf.
Photo credit: Lyla Blake Ward Read more of this story on Next Avenue.org
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