The above is a photo of my daughter. You see the back of her head in the foreground, and between the porch rails you see "the drummer," the object of her affection. We will refer to him as "the drummer" to protect his privacy. Live music is the norm in a resort town on a sultry Sunday eve, and Quinn loves to boogie. So a couple of weeks ago, when she exclaimed that she was, "falling in love with that boy (the drummer)." I didn't think much of it. I mean the drummer's always get the girl, right? They usually don't have to put in much effort either -- "the drummer relaxes and waits between shows for his cinnamon girl." And it is reasonable to believe that Neil Young could be speaking of a Canadian drummer. I take that to mean a slightly less forceful and self appraising drummer than your average American drummer. Even he needn't work to woo! He relaxes and waits--that's it.
Be that as it may, this week was different. Quinn made a couple of adult, or at least young adult proclamations that gave me pause. First, as you see in the photo, she is a professional creeper--she said that she wanted to see "the drummer," but did not want to be seen by him. She also asked, "mom, do you think I need to apologize for the last time?" She looked genuinely concerned, and upon further inquisition explained that last time she was holding "the drummer's" tambourine when he needed it. This was no surprise, because she had held his tambourine for the entire evening. Clearly she had been brooding about this for quite a while.
Quinn's earlier expressions of a desire to marry, or the sentiment that she was falling in love sounded like things she might have heard others utter. But to contemplate a perceived failure in the eyes of the object of her affection, store it in her psyche for almost two weeks, and lament it with sincerity was tragic and absurd all at once--just as young love tends to be. I have no angle on this one. I was taken aback, and I've been that way ever since. I tried to develop some insight, but none came. I can say that I smiled, and offered no more comfort than my presence. As the evening wore on, I was forced to ponder the reality that that would be all I'd ever have to offer. And as my daughter starts down a long road, seemingly way too soon, I may never be more helpful than I was last night--and that wasn't very helpful.
