Just like her big sister who, just a scant nearly two years ago, turned 18.
This, of course, means that my husband and I are now parents of adults.
This fact amuses our children to no end. As in, “Hah! We’re adults ... just like our parents!”
We’ve accepted their amusement with generous, tender smiles, knowing that just because the clock ticks one minute past midnight, the former 17-year-old turned newly minted 18-year-old doesn’t suddenly know everything there is to know about being an adult. (In fact ... there are times we’re stilling trying to figure this adulthood thing out ... and we’ve been at it a collective 63 years!)
Now, understandably, our oldest child wanted to give something special to her little sister for her 18th birthday. The we-are-both-adults-now sisters wanted to celebrate that fact together.
Awwwww, we thought. How sweet! We thought back with sentimentality to the little girls who once shared a secret language during their pre-school years. Who thought they were big-time adventurers by “running away” to the park behind our house. (I didn’t let on that I was keeping an eye on them the whole time from the kitchen window.) Who have different personalities and interests and reactions to things and yet who see eye-to-eye on the kinds of things that matter: values, priorities, a zest for life.
Privately, my husband and I tried to guess what our daughters might do to celebrate both now becoming legal adults. We came up with: a shopping spree, a camping trip, whitewater rafting (sort of scary, but we’ve done that as a family in the past).
And then they told us their plan.
Sky diving.
As in, going up in the air in a perfectly good airplane.
And then jumping out of it.
For fun.
Most of my friends gasped when I told them of our daughters’ plans. A few asked if we were going to let them do this. I explained this was, I’m guessing, partly the point. They’ve planned the event, our oldest daughter is paying for it as a gift to her younger sister... and since they’re both adults, we can’t legally stop them.
Oh, I suppose we could try whining and wheedling and try to talk them out of it. But I know that wouldn’t work.
And while on the outside I feel an obligation to not be too enthusiastic about plans like jumping out of perfectly fine airplanes, secretly, I'm pleased that we wouldn't be able to talk them out of it anyway. And, truth be told, big-physical-wimp though I am, I'm also just a tad jealous of their guts at doing something that sounds both terrifying and exhilarating.
So what we’ve actually said is ... “Well. Have fun!”
I’ll quietly hold my breath when they make their jumps. And sigh a prayer of thanks when they land safely.
I’m also under no delusions that once they’ve successfully achieved this adventure, they won’t cook up others. Sigh, say “have fun!” hold breath, sigh prayers of thanks ... and repeat. Often. I can tell this is going to be my future as a parent of adult children.
But then, maybe that’s the best sign that we’ve done a thing or two right in rearing our children into adulthood.
They jump out of airplanes ... and into life, feet first.
And now the best thing we can say, whatever adventures they cook up in the future, is ... “Have fun! And wear a parachute.”
Sharon Short’s column runs Monday in Life. Send email to sharonshort@sharon short.com.
About the Author