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A Daughter’s Visit

My daughter, Alix, who lives in Massachusetts, played softball in last week’s column. This week, she traveled to Warren.

The initial reason for Alix’s flight in from Boston was to attend the wedding of a friend she’s known since junior high school. Dear Richard was going to miss the wedding. He was driving to his grandson’s graduation in New Jersey. So, it was just going to be we girls for the weekend.

I fetched Alix at the Buffalo airport just before midnight Thursday. You might think that arriving home a bit after 1:30 a.m. might find us collapsing into bed. But no, as usual, we continued to chat for over an hour about the grandkids, day-to-day stuff, and the horrible national news of recent days.

Fortunately, sleeping in was an option for the weekend. The only critical requirements for mornings were hot coffee and our comfy seats for the French Open broadcasts at 9 a.m. We were free to indulge in one of our favorite mutual interests: Grand Slam tennis. Saturday, the wedding wasn’t until 4 p.m.

The lovely bride had postponed her wedding – twice. The fangs of COVID had shredded the couple’s earlier plans, the first time after the invitations were sent. They’d had to ride the peaks and valleys of the pandemic’s waves for the better part of two years.

My daughter has very few needs – she has traveled so much that she takes most things in stride. She’s not fussy, but prefers that her coffee be dark roast. I think she’d eat Cheerios for dinner and laugh about it. But I guess, like most moms, I enjoy spoiling her a bit. The guest room was freshly made up, the French roast java had been purchased, and I was looking forward to having her all to myself.

As we gussied up for the wedding, the only extra consideration was a bag to carry Alix’s dancing shoes. Her stylish high heels completed her outfit, but they were never going to see the center of the dance floor. She’s become practical in her middle years.

We were actually early for the festivities at our local theatre. A pianist and lady jazz singer were entertaining onstage as everyone was seated.

The bride, a hometown Warren girl, had been an actress on the West Coast, so the theatre was the perfect venue. The couple had thought of everything, including the processional music. As her beaming dad escorted the bride down the center aisle, the girl singer belted out “At Last.” The song’s appropriateness for the long-awaited day brought the house down. The laughter set the tone for really festive evening.

Buffet reception food and drink were offered on three floors of the theatre and the Library Room hosted the New York City deejay. His hot tunes dominated the fun. When I finally took my leave after almost four hours, my girl was still dancing and laughing, just the way I wanted to see her.

Alix stayed out with old friends at the after-party. Her dad and I used to call that group the “Bitter Enders,” a name we proudly wore into our middle years. That ship has sailed for me, but I was glad that Alix had the opportunity to share time with old friends. Her father would have been proud that she maintained the family party tradition.

Sunday morning was about as perfect as we two could have planned: No alarm clock, good coffee, the men’s finals of the French Open (with Rafa Nadal, be still my heart), eggs Benedict, and gorgeous weather for some deck time. We needed to leave by 5 p.m. for Buffalo International, which gave us a leisurely Sunday for our one-on-one – a rare commodity.

I couldn’t even remember the last time we’d been alone, other than on a local car ride. I began to realize as Sunday was winding down how special the few days had been … just us girls. And as well as we know each other, I keep learning more about her opinions, her interests, her politics, her beliefs. I realize that I don’t just love this woman, I really like her. I respect her.

Alix carries within her busy life a lot of her Dad’s and my personal values. But she became an independent woman early on, embracing her own personal credo on her life journey. Somehow, her choices haven’t strayed much off our family path. Well, there were those years with the blue toenail polish, but nobody’s perfect.

Her marriage is strong, she is deeply involved with her children who adore her, and I have faith in her to always do the right thing. Can a mother want more than that? I’m just grateful for the gift of a rare weekend. And the bragging rights.

Marcy O’Brien can be reached at Moby.32@hotmail.com.

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