A Rite of Passage
I’m growing up. Today I took Cate, my oldest daughter, out to buy her first semi-formal dress. She’s going to a party for her best friend’s 16th birthday. I remember this… I remember what it felt like to go shopping for my first special party dress. It was a little white lace dress that went all the way to the floor. It had a lovely wide skirt and a ruffle along the bodice. I remember the little open-toed shoes we bought - and the white hose. I remember my mother letting me borrow the beautiful white beaded evening bag that is now mine.
It’s funny, I thought that since I was now taking *my* daughter on her first shopping trip for a special dress I should feel sort of… well… old. Instead, I forgot I wasn’t 17 years old. It was great fun picking out a sweet little dress, trying things on - knowing that *this* was THE dress. Of course we had to go to another shop to find pumps to match. We talked about all the little sparkly things in my jewelry box that would go *just perfectly* with the outfit. I can’t wait to try the dress on again and raid the box.
Our little girl is nearly a grown woman, and I’m still just a giddy girl myself. Who would have imagined that such a thing was possible?
