I'm not the kind of mother who normally brushes her daughter's hair, and my daughter has never liked sitting there, waiting for me to do it.
But today, I set my daughter Sally on a kitchen stool (凳子). She's sitting high with her eyes closed, skin still wet from the shower, and her long hair behind her back. I realize she is enjoying the moment. It's the last time for a week that our bodies will connect. Today I'm sending Sally away for a week of a summer camp. This is all my idea. She's nearly 12, and I notice that I'm with my child nearly 24 hours a day.
Living on a farm without any neighbors, I've chosen a life that is quieter than a normal family's. But rather than expecting space away from me, Sally has become increasingly dependent. What frightens me most is that she has become a "mini-me", even has the same hobbies, dreams, and opinions as me. That's why I pull her to the summer camp: a nearby wilderness(荒野) camp called Hawk Circle.
After eating, I drive Sally to Hawk Circle. Once we get there, we are introduced to her fellow campers. Sally stands by them, holding my hand, horror in her eyes, trying to work up the courage to join a game of soccer. "I need you for a few more minutes," she tells me. I pull her away to walk to one of the camp's workers. "Excuse me," I say loudly, "I'd like to introduce you to my daughter. Maybe you could help her meet a few of these kids." He comes over to talk to Sally, and then I disappear before she realizes it.
It is a hard time for me to drive back. When I arrive home, I calm down and remind myself why I choose this way. I want Sally to have a chance to find herself, I want to learn who she is. If I don't set her free, I fear I'll never really meet her real personality.
