Tonight I sat and listened to the likes of J. Rodrigo’s Sonatas de Castilla and F. Liszt’s Consolation S. 172.3. These and eleven others were beautifully rendered on the black Baby Grand that sat in the middle of the room. The pianist in her black gown, hair artfully curled, smile perfectly placed, performed in a manner far, far too mature for her age.
I have known the very lovely and gifted Miss R for many years. Always a bright child, she has truly grown into an amazing, gifted young woman. This was her farewell, if you will, before heading back east to college next year. I was honored, we all were, to be included in this small circle of family and close friends.
I couldn’t help but remember her as a little girl, straight brown hair, glasses, running and playing with the other children. The elegant black gown showed me a woman, but I still see the little girl in her bright eyes. The thought of her leaving her family and beginning a new adventure was troubling to me. She’s so…well; she’s so pretty that I worry for her.
Then I recalled the words my son said to me when we learned that Miss R had been accepted at the college of her choice, “R can handle herself, Mom.”
“I know, but, you know. It’s R!” I stammered.
“She can handle it. She’s strong. She’ll be okay.” He responded
I know he’s right. Miss R is a girl of high standards, deep faith, and incredible intelligence. She comes from a good family and will be attending a conservative school. The lovely Miss R will spread her wings and fly. Perhaps that is what is bothering me.
She’s old enough to fly. When did that happen?