The Rainbow Bridge

Mike drove an El Camino and Anna was 19, leggy and blonde. My dad was their minister and he married them on top of the rainbow bridge that led to Fairy Land at Lowry Park, a magical place.

I thought they were the coolest.

They had an apartment and on Friday nights I'd pack my little red suitcase and head over for the night so mom and dad could fall in love again. Mike would always run out to 7-Eleven and buy me Watchamacallits and Anna would bring in the sweet tea that had been steeping in the sun on their balcony. Sometimes we'd watch movies, sometimes we'd go to the pool, but we'd always laugh; the two teenage sweethearts and the little girl with big, watchful eyes.

When I was 19 I moved into the same apartment complex where Mike and Anna started their life together. I moved in with the boy I married. The rainbow bridge was gone, but we found a local park with a gazebo and strung enough lights throughout the grand oak trees to overpower the fireflies that buzzed around and highlight the freckles I was still too young to have outgrown while I recited my vows.

Mike and Anna were there with their three children, whom I babysat over hot, muggy Florida summers. Mike no longer drove an El Camino, but together they were still the epitome of young love.

Until they weren't anymore.

I think I left my child husband before Mike and Anna finally went their own ways. I'm not sure when in that timeline the rainbow bridge was leveled or when it was I realized that El Caminos and Watchamacallits did not promise a forever love.

I thought of all of this as an El Camino riding club passed Trevor and I on the highway over the weekend. I very thoughtfully recounted my sleeping bagged nights, the chocolate fingers and Anna's infectious laugh while Trevor listened and Livi gurgled in the back seat. I wondered who it is my daughter will look up to, who will teach her about the first inklings of love and while most of me wants to sit her down and argue that boys are walkin' talkin' sacks of hormones, sure to break her heart, someone is going to make her hopeful. I realize that hopeful is ok and naive is sweet as long as it is tempered with anchors, individuals that help her think through impetuous, young decisions.

I realized that being a parent is going to be ambitious and scary and quite a responsibility.

I can't imagine what her life will look like and what moments will build her impression of love, relationships and how to build, grow and protect them. I can't expect that her heart will go unbroken, nor should it if she is to appreciate the one that steals her heart and never gives it back.

I just hope she is insightful.

And careful.

And curious.

But, what hurts the most is that I cannot promise her that she will never be hurt, never be divorced, never experience loss. I wasn't prepared to care so much about another person; who she is, who she'll become and how things will effect her.

It is the first time I've felt both powerful and powerless at the same time.

And I just got her...