When the child becomes the parent

For the first time in forever, I get to go on one of my daughters’ fieldtrips.  When I was working, I was always too busy for things like that.  Of course I see now that it was my loss.

Jade is taking Art History, and her teacher organized a trip to Honolulu for the weekend.  I can’t say that I have a craving to go to our state capital.  In fact, out here in the “Neighbor Islands” we poke fun at the “State” of Honolulu.  It has crime, crowds, thick traffic all the time, and everything else that the center of the universe has – a feeling that the rest of us are, well, less than.

On top of that, I’m quite happy right where I am.  Let’s face it, anyone who would choose to move to an island in the middle of the Pacific, then choose to live in a village of 2000 people is not exactly urbane.  On the other hand, when faced with an opportunity to have someone else plan, arrange, and execute a fieldtrip for me, I am happy to jump on board.

I asked Jade for her expectations.  We were playing back the hundreds of occasions when her father and I told her and Faye what our expectations were: be polite, no loud talking, give our host a hug (or later, a handshake), stick close by – be in eyesight, hold hands.  The exact terms were different by age and with each occasion.  Now the roles were ???????????????????????????????reversed.  “Nothing,” she said.  I was incredulous, knowing that Faye would have had a long list for me.  “Be you, just less of you.”  That’s more like it.

Our first test of this expectation was when I found out we were attending the opening night of an opera. I asked the teacher if a long dress was appropriate.  “Absolutely,” came the quick response.  So I eyed the full length, fully sequined, red dress I wore to my Retirement Roast.  It had hung, forlorn, in my closet since I got here, just waiting to party.  Now was my chance to wear it!  “Nope,” responded Jade firmly.  Rats.


For essays on this fieldtrip, see:

Highbrow Honolulu – Blaisdell Symphony Hall

Art History 101; Sad History 201 – Honolulu Museum of Art/ Iolani Palace

Shop ’til you drop – Ala Moana Center

Honolulu wakes up

She could have been Queen – Bishop Museum


If you like my blog, you’ll enjoy my book, Manifesting Paradise, available on Amazon. Receive my posts automatically by filling in your email address in the “follow” box at the top of the right column. And please join my mailing list.

About Diane Scheurell

I'm a writer and author. Check out my book, Manifesting Paradise on Amazon, and my blog, ManifestingParadise.com. I talk about Hawaii and the transformation tools I used to achieve my dreams.
This entry was posted in daughters, Honolulu, life choices. Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to When the child becomes the parent

  1. Dianne says:

    Honolulu is a city not a State 😉

    Dianne Pencille Evans

  2. Li'l Sis says:

    I LOVE that red dress. Take it along anyway, and find a “no kids allowed”, teacher/chaperone/parent party to go to! Or crash someone else’s party. In that dress, they’ll let you in anywhere!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s