"Watch Me Grow"

Don't wait till it becomes "Watch Me Go."

“Hey dad, look here,” she said, her voice so clear, 
She tapped the simple letters on her chest. 
I read the words: “Watch me grow,” and felt a fear, 
As seven years of life stood manifest.

A blink. And just like that, the time has run. 
The girl who learns and seeks all by herself, 
This self-motivated, brilliant, shining sun, 
Who pulls her own discoveries from the shelf.

The piano notes she practices all day, 
(A world of music I have never known), 
She joins the run club, trying to keep dad's pace, 
On her small bike, she wins the driveway race. 
The science tricks, the magic she’ll display, 
The languages she masters, come what may.

And I am stopped. How much did I impart? 
How much more could she be, if I had tried? 
I don’t know where her language lessons start, 
Or who the teacher is, who stands beside. 
Do I even know the dreams inside her heart?

We build so hard to give them “a good life,” 
And trade the “good moment” for the distant prize. 
We offer up excuses, worn with strife: “I’m just too tired,” (we can’t meet their eyes), “There’s too much work,” “The dishes in the sink,” 
Forgetting what’s important in a blink. 
The only thing they wanted us to learn, 
Was how to do it all together, wait our turn.

I cherish every night I tuck her in, 
The conversations, genuine and deep, 
The profound questions, where the truths begin, 
The sacred promises we softly keep.

But soon we’ll turn, and ask to join their space, 
To finally “do life” as we had planned, 
And find they’ve set their own independent pace, 
And gently pull away their little hand.

Don’t miss the chance. 
The season is so brief. 
The invitation isn’t evergreen. 
That little shirt, beyond all our belief, 
Is not a promise, but a passing scene.

For “Watch me grow,” we read with wistful woe, 
Becomes the silent echo: “Watch me go.”

Let's be present for our children.