Two milestones that touched the heart ~ July 17, 1997

David Heiller

There are certain events that make you realize how precious your children are. You experience these milestones gradually, one at a time, which is good, because it helps your heart heal before it gets pounded again.

I saw a couple last weekend, one from a distance and one up close and personal.

The first came on Saturday, when Heidi Rossow and Josh Eschenbach were married. I hate to use the words “good kids” to describe Josh and Heidi. It doesn’t do them justice. Maybe words like hard working, responsible, friendly, fun-loving, and compassionate would fit better. And they aren’t kids either.

But you know what I mean. They’re good kids. And I say that knowing full well that when I praise someone in the paper, they usually turn out to be axe murderers. Not this time. No way.

Bet on it.

Cindy shanghaied my handkerchief early in the service. She always cries at weddings. I never had, not even at my own.

(That’s a joke!)

But on Saturday, I felt goose bumps as I watched Heidi’s father, Curt, walk her down the aisle. Wow, he looked proud. Yet he looked as fragile as a wine glass. He was losing his oldest daughter—a good kid, no less—and he knew it. What a mix of emotions he must have experienced. I could feel them from the third pew.

Later in the ceremony, which was a perfect one, the bride and groom went to their parents and greeted them. Josh gave his mother, Glenda, a big hug. A lot of things passed between them in that instant. More than words can express. It was like Josh was saying, “Thanks for getting me this far, Mom. I can take it from here.”

And Glenda’s hug in return said, “I know you can.”

I had to ask for my hanky back.

The older my own kids get, the more I feel the bonds between parent and child tugged and torn and patched and hopefully strengthened.

Ten years ago, Heidi and Josh were sitting in church next to their parents, watching some guy in a white tuxedo grin from ear to ear as a beautiful woman walked into his life forever.

Ten years from now, maybe I’ll be walking down a church aisle with a glassy-eyed smile. Maybe Cindy will be giving the hug of hugs.

Malika went to camp that year and for a bunch of
years after. This is her in 2000, having fun with crayfish.

The next day, on Sunday, we took our daughter, Malika, to Wolf Ridge Environmental Learning Center for summer camp. It is her first summer camp. She picked Wolf Ridge out last winter, after getting a summer camp stipend from her aunt as a Christmas gift.

We had heard about this summer camp many times. It teaches environmental education, although I hate to use the words “teach” and “summer camp” in the same paragraph, lest we see a mass exodus from Wolf Ridge.

I’ve got a hunch it’s the kind of teaching where you don’t know you are being taught until a few weeks or years later.

Mostly it will be fun. There’s a rock climbing wall, and a ropes course, and an overnight trip in the Montreal-style voyageur’s canoe.

“It’s 34 feet long, Dad, and you can sit three abreast,” she told me. She had read the brochure carefully.

Mollie was a bit worried. The camp didn’t have horses, and campers stayed in dormitories, not run-down cabins.

She wasn’t worried about going there alone.

She went to camp alone that first year,
 but of course friends were made quickly!

That impressed me. I had always gone to camp with friends. No way would I have gone alone to a camp at age 12.

I remember being nervous and excited, two feelings that sum up life’s great jumping off spots, like summer camp and marriage.

Malika packed a bag and suitcase full of clothes and flashlights and boots and maybe the proverbial kitchen sink. It was heavy!

We arrived at Wolf Ridge early. We visited the office, and hiked the trails. Mollie got tired of that, and waited for us at the car. She was already anxious for us to leave.

I don’t remember my mom getting teary-eyed when I left for camp. Maybe she was too busy breathing a sigh of relief. But she must have stopped for a few seconds to say to herself,

“Wow, he’s getting big. What’s next?”

That’s what we felt as we threw Mollie’s gear on her bunk bed and shook hands with her counselors and gave our hugs goodbye. Chances are she forgot us before we got to the car. That would be a good sign. She’ll see us again this Saturday, and tell us about the friends she made and the new Hanson songs she learned, and a hundred other details, and maybe our hearts will be ready for the next big event.