Seventeen-year-old girls
do not needtheir parents
watching over their every move.
They think they arebetter than that.
They rebel
from the institutionof
childhood,
rushing to join the institutionof
adulthood.
So how come
sitting in the hospital'swheelchair
waiting to undergo a CAT scan,
I long to hear mymother's voice
saying,
"Samantha, everything will be okaynow.
Your father and I are here with you.
Or, my father
Reciting
Madeline
From memory?
The housedoctor
comes to put
the I.V. in my vein
I proudly hold tight tomy
daddy's hand
I am a seventeen-year-old girl
I should bebrave!
Then why at the sight of
a needle do I shiver infear?
Seventeen-year-old girls
are supposed to bestrong.
So why do I find some
comfort knowing that my mommy
isjust "resting her eyes"
in the bed next to mine?
Iroll over.
It's time to go to sleep
on the pediatric floor
andmore so in room 432.
I hold tight to
"Mr. Bear,"
Mychildhood protector.
Scared to death,
I drift off to sleep
notcaring that
I am a seventeen-year-old girl
on the verge ofadulthood.
I am glad just being:
"Daddy's littlegirl,"
"Mommy's princess,"
Samantha
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