Once upon a time...

“Dad touched me inappropriately.”  My vision blurred as I attempted to read the text again.  I held my cell phone in my shaking hand….not wanting to believe.  My 15 year old daughter Sissy had just “texted” me the reason she had been so angry at her father in the last few weeks.  Just the week before Bill, my husband while working together with me in our beautiful yard,  was stung by a bee.  His reaction was so strong that we realized he had suddenly grown highly allergic.  The doctor prescribed him an epi-pen.  After giving Sissy the instructions on how to use it if dad was ever stung again she asked me “Mom, is that epi-pen good for just bee stings or will it help get the stick out of his butt?”  Though my daughter’s wit made me proud, I knew she had been increasingly upset with her father recently and he seemed irritated at her all the time.

  Teenagers seem to feel more comfortable jabbing their feelings out with their thumbs onto a tiny keyboard rather than speak face to face these days.  I thought I would open up a dialect with my teen through the cell during a long Saturday morning car ride to my nephew’s wedding two hours away.  I thought that her recent disregard towards her father was her way of rebelling, of being a typical teenage girl.  She was anything but a typical teenager.

   From a young child, Sissy was more kind and sensitive then her playmates.  I still giggle when I watch an old video tape of her that I secretly recorded while she watched her favorite movie “Grease”.  Two year old Sissy stands on a chair giddily jumping up and down while Sandy cheers at a pep rally in the movie.  When the scene changes to Danny seeing Sandy for the first time since “Summer Lovin” and he proceeds to be rude to her, Sissy runs to the TV and turns the sound down.  Even at that age, she couldn’t bare to see others, albeit a movie character, get their feelings hurt.  

She grew into a kind, beautiful, sweet, bubbly cheerleader herself.  Actually, quite a lot like Sandy from Grease.   She did well in school.  She was loved by many of her friends and teachers.  Our peers were envious that we didn’t have to deal with “normal” teenage issues such as breaking curfew, talking back, drinking etc.  Her father – a well respected teacher and coach in our small town -  and I commented to each other repeatedly on what a lovely girl we were blessed with.  Then how, I sat there wondering, could he have done this to our princess?

I sat in the car, all dressed to the nines, high heels, fluttery dress, hair in curls.  Bill is obliviously singing to Def Leppard, while I am still holding my phone, shaking, tears dropping on the screen. 

“Turn the car around Bill." I say "Take me home.”