4 minute read

OPINION

ents. We’re finally seeing green grass again, flowers are blooming, even the sky looks happier.

Springtime concerts, recitals and banquets are pretty common occurrences to begin the end of the school year procession. I’m on year 9, I think, of attending my daughter’s spring dance recital. Her ballet company has a theme each year and each group plays a part to tell the story. At every performance there are a few exuberant waves to loved ones from the littlest dancers costumed as puppies, clouds and piglets. Each year there’s at least one bashful bluebird or bunny who needs a helping hand to brave the stage. The audience wants to cheer to let them know they’re doing great, but instead we smile as loudly as we can in encouragement as not to spook the small woodland creature.

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Being in Minnesota, there’s a fair amount of leaving a warm house to head into the cold and drive in the dark. Living outside of city limits, there’s also plenty of waiting in parking lots. And somewhere before, after, or in between practices brings the task of figuring out an evening meal.

But perspective impacts a whole lot. “It’s a charmed life, considering” is something I’ve written while parked and waiting in the driver’s seat as a kind of literary thwack upside the head. When it comes down to it, those drives often turn out to be one of my favorite parts of the day. Talking and laughing about random nonsense is one of our greatest strengths as a mother/daughter duo. And there is really no greater sense of pride than when someone of a younger generation appreciates a song or two from your own time and beyond. While my daughter has made a worthy effort to keep me up to speed with the present, I, in exchange, have made sure she’s acquainted with Isaac, Taylor, and Zac from my era of music, and John, Paul, George, and Ringo from my parents’.

It’s always nice to hear when she “doesn’t hate” a song from the ‘90s or 2000s. Sometimes there’s a moment of panic. “This isn’t Hanson, is it?” As long as I say it’s not, the head bopping can safely resume.

At some point, after countless frozen walks to and from the car, temperatures begin to rise, and snow — in true Minnesota goodbye fashion — finally bids us farewell.

I’ve only ever lived in the Midwest, but I’d guess this time of year is more welcomed here than anywhere else. Besides the promise of summer vacation on the horizon, the last dirt snowbanks have left the store parking lots. Elementary students are done shoving snow pants into lockers. Middle schoolers who refuse to wear winter coats no longer have to hide their shivers from exasperated par-

It’s during those quick few minutes on stage when “the why” really dawns. Why we add chaos to the calendar and pay the bills that come with it. Happiness plays the leading role, and also there is progress, pride and accomplishment. It’s something that’s all their own. The year’s worth of 45 minutes here and 60 minutes there transform into things like character and fortitude. Maybe for you, it’s not a recital that resonates, but rather the hard work behind county fair preparation or FFA competitions. Maybe even moving the outhouse.

It’s not with every life situation that you get two hours in auditorium seating or bleachers to reflect. Sometimes you don’t realize your child isn’t really a child anymore until you can’t remember the last time something was. The last held hand to cross the street. The last held hand just because. Do you ever hear a video recording of a tiny little voice and wonder when in the world did that change?

After the curtain falls, I always rise from my seat believing the sacrifices to be worth it. The challenge, I know, is to fight through the normalcy throughout the rest of the year and to be thankful for it. Every spring I look back and say, “That wasn’t that bad.”

We made it through the cold and the ice. I often tell myself I should have done more with my time. But (un)lucky for me, it’s a guarantee there will always be a long winter coming up to try again.

When my daughter was really little, with not as much vocabulary, I’d often end the night asking her, “Happiness?” and she’d respond, “Happiness.” The days are longer; hope is dancing through the air. Happy Spring, everyone.

Laura Cole is the staff writer of The Land. She may be reached at lcole@TheLandOnline.com.

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