When John and I started a family the anticipation kicked in. My imagination had little scope, in that I expected our children to be 2.0 versions of us.
But it never entered my twenty something mind that they would aspire to different ideals. Egocentric of me, I know.

 

Being focused on preconceptions about sewing and composing music I was sluggish to notice their emerging gifts. A son who can mastermind the sound engineering for an eight piece band, whereas I forget to turn on my microphone at church.  A daughter who can create brands for national companies, while I still write quilt prices on an index card. A son who earned his pilot's license, even as I become less willing to drive a car at night. A daughter whose financial savvy steamed past our modest checking account and flourished in the MBA program at Yale. A daughter whose creative realm includes sign language, improv, and a 3-d printer. The top five are experienced travelers, embarking on hikes through Colorado and Vermont, even as John and I get winded walking up our own road.

 

It happens in other relationships too. We are so intent on what we expect to find that we overlook other incarnations of beauty. In our obsessive search for pink roses in the garden we ignore the salvia and columbine.