Conform

¨Mommy?¨ I feel the tug on my sleeve and look down into her innocent blue eyes.

¨Why do the boys never chase me around the playground?¨

It was her first day of third grade.

¨Mommy?¨ She was staring down at her homework laid out on the kitchen table.

¨Do you think I´m pretty?¨

That was the beginning of middle school.

¨Mommy?¨ I was stirring a pot of soup on the stove.

¨Can I try out for cheerleading? Everyone´s doing it.¨

That was in seventh grade.

¨I´m going to start calling you ´mom´,¨ I was driving her to cheer practice.

¨Everyone says mommy is little kid-ish.¨

Eighth grade.

¨Mom, can we go to the store?¨ I furrowed my brow.

¨C´mon, I just want some makeup.¨

Freshman year.

¨Mom, why can´t I get a boyfriend?¨ I looked into her still-innocent eyes and all I could do was hug her.

Junior year.

¨Mom,¨ She had woken me up with a late-night phone call. I didn´t mind. Her voice was thick with tears.

¨Why do I have to change in order for people to like me?¨

Freshman year of college.

I was speechless. I didn´t have an answer when she was in third grade, and I sure didn´t have one now.