Lola

Seems unlikely to me that a new mother would look at her beautiful little round-cheeked baby girl and think, “One day she’ll be my 42-year-old daughter.” I know I had no such thoughts that March night, 11:56 p.m. to be exact.

The immediate facts:

• She made it here on March 2, her grandmother Lola’s birthday, with four minutes to spare, which is good, because otherwise she might not have been named Lola.
• Weighing in at 8 lbs 14 oz kept her under nine pounds, which has no significance, I guess.
• She was a beauty from the beginning—just ask her dad, well, you know, if you could—a fact still clearly evident when you see her, and when you know her, you see beauty through and through. It’s of her essence.

Lola taught me about girls, their sweetness, their delicateness, their hopes, their promise. Girls are smart--they can do anything; girls need special care; girls are beautiful; girls are wonderful. My girls anyway.

As I sit here, I am watching the movie of Lola’s life run through my mind.

1. Her curly brown hair and dark eyes.
   
2. The early walking—eight months old. That was all her idea, you know. Her first steps took her across the living room at 401 W Hazel from her dad’s arms to mine. Such a smart little thing.
3. Lola in the backyard swing. Same house.
4. Playing with her two big brothers. That was a good trio, you know.
5. Lola growing tall, too.
6. Her love of music and song—we would sit in the rocking chair every night at bedtime, and I would sing those favorites of hers, a lullaby or three, old songs I knew from my mother and father, songs I made up just for Lola.
7. The favored status she held in the family (just ask her older brothers).
8. Her gift for playing the piano that showed early in her life. She must have brought it with her. Her grandma Lola would come to visit occasionally and would sit with our little Lola at the piano. Her first lessons. And Lola’s amazing willingness to practice. Whoever heard of such a thing? Her accomplishment as pianist and as accompanist par excellence.
9. Her love of play—she was pretty darn good at softball—and her discovery of running.
10. Her mothering of her baby sister.
    
11. Her brothers called her Loaf. I was never quite sure why.
12. Lola the drummer.
13. Lola the singer.
14. Lola the nanny, the NY subway expert.
15. Lola the teacher. Of women, of little kids, of boys and girls who needed someone just like her.
16. Lola the unassuming, the modest, the quiet.

Today it’s Lola the wife, mom, manager, person who can get by on very little, loyal helper and support for her husband and advocate for her boys, wise person, good person, capable person. Still Lola the musician, still the teacher and leader. It’s a longer list than this and than I know about.

Yes, I know. Countless others have written and spoken of the quick passage of time, how if we’re not careful we can miss something, how the years that stretched out long ahead of us seem like moments when we look back on them. So I add my witness and ask, “How is it possible?”

I don’t know how, of course, but it is possible. In fact, it’s fact, because here it is, the day I did not think about that night. My baby girl, my first daughter, my very own Lola, is 42 years old.

I am proud of you, Lola, and love you forever and ever.

Happy Birthday.