Bruce’s daughter Catherine and I went for a run. Warm for January. We grabbed a bit of sunshine along a dirt road and pushed it until we panted for air. Aside: What kind of crazy makes one believe you can keep up with teenagers?
Catherine and I have a contradictory relationship. I protect her, but she’s not my responsibility. She only lived with us part-time. And now that she’s a young lady, I’m even less able to keep her from harm. Not that I wouldn’t tear out the throat of anyone who laid a hand on her; I would. She faces life-changing dangers and only her good judgment can shield her from harm.
All I can do is run along side her, quietly supporting her. Hoping that by listening to her, I can encourage her to keep good company, take care of herself and surround herself with people that love her as much as I do. And for an hour, we run in the unusual sunny warmth and it feels like I’m playing with that well-protected little girl.