Michaela's first waterski show was at 7:30 this evening.
She, Jamie and Shelly went down to Hodag Park at 6. When I arrived just before showtime, I noticed the stillness, the golden tint resting upon everything and everyone in the park.
Families slowly gathered into a community at the water's edge.
As I walked down the gentle grassy slope I heard the voice of an angel whispering a lullaby. Israel Kamakawiwo'ole
sang of what is to be.
As the ideas within my mind, and the subtle, yet awesome, perceptions without, formed a confluence in the reality immediately in front of me, I felt a lump in my throat. My daughter is crossing one of those thresholds.
She admitted to butterflies in her stomach at dinner this evening. She's been on stage, on the court, field, and mat before, in front of spectators. But this was a step up. This is a team of teenagers.
I sat in the bleachers, trying not to be overwhelmed.
Michaela sat in the water, balancing her skis, waiting for the rope to go tense, waiting for that powerful boat to pull her up and out of the water, to pull her so gracefully across the glimmering surface.
And it did. And she stood. And she rode the full circuit, she dropped the rope in front of the crowd, quietly settled into the waist-deep water, and emerged with the smile of the conquering hero.