Pickup Trucks and Too Much Passion
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| school-girl giddy with the last and best boyfriend. |
I would peek between the blinds and watch for signs. Listen closely for the muffled sound of country radio and an engine switching off.
Nothing says "teenage boy" like a pickup truck in the driveway and I wonder if my parents thought the same thing.
I didn't realize at the time that all parents were once teenagers. All mothers used to be daughters who were 15 years old, watching and waiting for some boy to come and take them away in a pickup truck.
Come to think of it, every boyfriend I ever had drove a pickup truck. Except for The Last One, of course. The one who'd make me his wife. He was a different kind of boy all together.
We'd all nod our heads to curfew and they'd open my door and I'd slide into the middle of the bench seat, never feeling more like a woman and less like myself and was I really all alone with this boy?
All that freedom to play music way too loud, freedom to not buckle my seat belt because I'd rather sit right up next to him, freedom to park the truck on the neighbor's curb at curfew and make out to George Strait one last time.
God, what a dangerous age that is.
What a breathless, beautiful, and dangerous age.
Womanhood springing forth like such a tender little shoot. Slowly, cautiously rising it's head. Seeking. And yet everything else- freedom, passion, emotion, self-discovery -all of that exploding with no sense of time or propriety.
Seriously, God- how will I ever get her ready for that?
My four year old girl, eternities away from pickup trucks in the driveway and first kisses on the sidewalk, how will I teach her to explode?
Because she will. She was made to.
She wasn't made to be a little girl forever, she was created to be a woman.
Created to crave intimacy and desire sex and long for her freedom. Created to step out from under our authority and household one day and into her own. And I want all those things for her. Those good and perfect things.
She was made for growing up and somehow... I was made to help her do it.
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Linking up with Nacole at Six in the Sticks for Concrete Words, a challenge to describe invisible things with words you can touch. This week's prompt is "Truck." Click the link to join - or just see what everyone else is saying!
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"How do I teach her to explode?" This, friend, you put words to something I feel deep inside for my girls, carry with me. Love this take on the truck. And no worries about missing the prompt last week-- what you linked was perfect!
ReplyDeleteI think carrying it with us is all we really can do. Just ponder all these things in our hearts about their future and what it means to be their mother, treasure all the little opportunities to teach and model womanhood. I would have NEVER written this without a prompt, thanks for the spark!
DeleteSuch a difficult, sensitive post - tackled beautifully. Visiting from concrete words link up.
ReplyDeleteThank you Ruth, I loved yours as well :)
DeleteNot all my boys are truck boys - but 2 of them think they are. It takes a strong mama and daddy for both boys and girls to prepare them, to plant the good seed into their souls, water it with prayer and lessons - and then walk in that faith when they walk out that door on a date:)
ReplyDeleteI still remember when one of the boyfriend's mother would remind him so gently to drive safely and get me home on time. She would say, "remember you have precious cargo!" I thought it was just a sweet, southern Mom thing to say but now -as a Mother- I know she was probably holding her breath and watching us go and praying that all her good seeds were planted deep.
DeleteThank you so much for raising up a generation of godly sons to love and care for all the daughters!