The Girl

The girl started fourth grade today. She's grown from the nervous first grader that I walked in everyday to the kid that throws herself from the car each morning with gusto.

I shout, "win the day!" as she unbuckles.

"I will!" comes back at me as the door slams.

She's nine. An experienced nine. Far more mature than her age. She's very comfortable in most conversations with adults and has a biting wit. Biting. She doesn't much look like me but... the personality. That's mine.

Eight years ago today she got her first haircut. Her baby mullet removed. In the easy days of a quick brushing and a plastic barrette. Now it's in her style (just hanging there) with a streak of some color as 'all the other kids' have one.

Mullet Removal.

Now, I can remember a lot of things. But, I didn't just off the top of my head remember the date of the baby mullet removal. No. I have Facebook to thank for that.

Those Facebook memories have a nasty habit of punching you right in the feels. This morning I was greeted by that cute little baby getting her first haircut by my mom while my dad distracted her.

My dad who was hopelessly in love with his little Tinkerbell.

She hasn't been called Tinkerbell in a long time. Thankfully she remembers that and him. He is and will forever be known as 'the grandpa that called me Tink'.

Tonight we'll do 'high/low' at dinner and she'll tell us about her day. Then she'll read and go to bed, exhausted from being back into the grind of elementary school. She and the cat will be sound asleep and I'll peek in and creepy watch her for awhile.

I'll revel in her nine-ness. I'll will her to remain a kid for just awhile longer. Beg a little even. Just like I have so many other nights.

Unfortunately, it never works.

On her way.