Only Seventeen
I'm not cr...yes, I am. I am crying.
Hally and I spent every moment we could working through the choreography. We ran home to her house at lunchtime each day because fifth-graders could do that back then. If we scarfed down our toasted English muffins with melted Munster quickly enough, we had a good 25 minutes of solid practice time. That meant at least 5 full run-throughs before it was time to grab our coats, fling our backpacks over one shoulder, and run back to class before the bell rang.
You are the dancing queen
Young and sweet only 17
So funny to hear them sing “only 17.” I mean, 17 is like… a teenager. An old teenager. Grown! Driving! Maybe even almost married! Definitely with a boyfriend.
I admit that I didn’t entirely understand the lyric about how you can die having the time of your life, but I figured it was an expression. Like, “I am so happy on the dance floor, I could die right here.”
That made perfect sense.
I was happy there too.
Even if the dance floor was Hally’s living room with the chairs pushed back, and an opaque glass orb that her dad had wired, flashing different colors to the disco beat.
This morning, Sage came into my room for a big happy birthday hug. I immediately started singing the 17-year-old songs that sprung to mind, fudging half the lyrics.
She was just 17
You know what I mean
Something something inappropriate way beyond compare...
Sexy and 17
My little rock ‘n’ roll queen
Something a little inappropriate here
Gotta let off a little steam…
“The 80s were different,” I said, like I always do, and we laughed.
Driving back down the FDR from the hospital where we visited my dad, heading toward the Brooklyn Bridge, she reminded me that I had put together a whole playlist for her stepsister when she turned 17. Sage had made her own this year.
When Abba came on, I couldn’t believe I had forgotten to sing that one this morning. Of all the songs.
“I used to think this lyric was so funny,” Sage said. “I mean, only 17? She was fully grown basically.”
“And now you’re 17,” I said. “That means you can…uh…”
“Go to R-rated movies.”
“NC-17 movies!”
Do they even make NC-17 movies anymore?
ABBA faded out, and that unmistakable opening riff cut the brief silence before Stevie’s voice kicked in.
“It’s your last year of childhood,” I said. “That’s crazy. How can my youngest be finishing her childhood? It doesn’t seem possible.”
“I know!”
“And not even the edge of seventeen. Like…actual seventeen.”
”I KNOW!” she said, laughing.
The chorus hit and we sang together.
Just like the white winged dove
Sings a song, sounds like she's singing
I said ooh, baby ooh, ooh…
What a great almost-Mother’s Day post. Being a mom is amazing!
My baby turns 18 in September. She will already be in college a few weeks before then and she's really happy to be spending her 18th birthday at school. No more birthday cake in the kitchen. I'm starting to tear up myself. Your kids have grown into lovely adults. Be happy you did such a great job at navigating their childhood years, it helps that you're also a lovely person, too. (Happy Birthday to Sage!)