Today, my daughter plays her last game for her middle school volleyball team. I will be missing. Dividing and conquering, I will be getting our son to his football game. Still, my daughter is on my mind.
I thought of her yesterday, too, in full day of drilling wheat. I remembered her as a younger girl in first seasons when she began. I think of her as now, the young lady she’s becoming.
In her first years, their final tournament was always the same: The “Queen of the Court,” and I can still see their aqua-teal shirts and hear the “A-T-T!”…”A-C-K!” cheers of us parents in the stands.
Youth volleyball and now middle school have reached their ends and—God willing—we’ll have a high school volleyball player next year.
I take none of it for granted: to witness and be present to her joy in play of a game she loves.
Last night, wanting to make it special—knowing I wouldn’t be there—I stopped for a surprise that, all the day, stayed on my mind.
Roses and tiara—hand delivered to my Queen of the Court.
I put the tiara on her head, a Halloween prop for ages three and up. I fixed it in her hair and with satire and smile told, “You haven’t grown a bit!”
Such are little signs of love—efforts to make another feel and know that they are special even when we are not there.
I checked on her at bed. She’d played with the tiara ever since with smile and simple happiness.
With all she’s grown, she’s still my little girl: my volleyball Queen of the Court.
