Steven Birenbaum reflects on a cherished memory with his daughters as they age into adulthood.
A cherished family photo recently popped up on my wife’s phone of our two daughters, then six and two-and-a-half, standing side-by-side in a sun dappled orchard. The photo happened to appear as we loaded up the car to drive to Brentwood to pick cherries. It’s a trip we have made nearly every year around Memorial Day, when the cherries tend to be ripe, one of the perks of living in this special part of the world.
Today, the urchins in the photo are accomplished and beautiful young women. But part of me wishes there was a way to keep them small. Life seemed easier then, though that’s probably my cherry-colored glasses. They are grown-ups now, with grown-up opinions, interests and desires that don’t always mesh with each other or their parents.
This yearning – to keep them forever young – must surely be fed by an urge to gird them against the harshness of the world. Yet I know I can’t; time, and they themselves, march forward. Still, being with them in the orchard and seeing that picture reinforces how fleeting it all is.
In a few weeks, we will attend our older daughter’s college graduation. Soon after, she will pack up and move East. Her younger sister is home after her freshman year of college. This may be the last time, for a long time, we go cherry picking as a family.