It's hard to believe it's been 18 years since my daughter entered my life. 18 short years blew by in a succession of rites of passage: gaining, losing, and then regaining teeth; a succession of first days at school followed by first days of summer; walks and parks and parades; the California rolls we used to split for lunch because they were cheap and I was broke; new shoes, new dresses, puberty; karate and kickboxing (her blackbelt is approaching soon); algebra, boyfriends, and chemistry; driver's license and college plans. Last week her 18th birthday completely snuck up on me--I realized the gravity of the moment when a ballot showed up in the mail with her name on it.
A ballot. For my girl. Holy shit. How did that happen? I can't blame my parenting skills, so it must be something inside her that got her registered to vote with time to spare. She's only been 18 for a week.
She, her ballot, and I sat down so I could help her navigate the minefield of removing that stupid tab at the top of the ballot, properly marking the appropriate arrows, stuffing the privacy envelope, and signing the outer envelope. She had a surprisingly good grasp of the issues: a handful of initiatives and a couple of city council and port authority elections.
"I don't want Costco taking over liquor sales, dad". Apparently this had been discussed in one of her high school classes, and she'd already made up her mind. She marked the appropriate arrow.
"People who care for the elderly need training and background checks. I don't like it when old people get ripped off". She marked another arrow.
"It makes sense to make it easier for people to vote". Another arrow marked her approval of a state constitutional amendment.
"Why do we pay a toll on the Tacoma Narrows Bridge?" Ah, my first chance to look all sagelike. I explained how public works are financed. Another arrow marked.
"We need to fund low income health care. How does this work?" I explained millage on property. "Will that raise your taxes, Dad?" "Yep, but not your problem." Another arrow marked.
"How do I vote on the city council changes?" "I don't know the answer to that one, do your best." Another arrow.
She got to the public office races: "Which one is the Democrat?" "That one." I replied. Another arrow marked.
And so passed another milestone, and so arrived another epiphany: I am not done raising her by a long, long margin. Her first small 'd' step as part of the community is the first on an incredibly long, difficult path through adulthood. I hope to hell I can pave just a little more of it for her.