Your aunt Carrie loves to tell a few stories about you as a little girl, and I will repeat them here in the interest of illustrating your 23rd superpower: Independence.
When her boys were little, Carrie would bring them to visit during the summer for weeks at a time. I would take as much time off of work as I could manage, and we created some of our most beloved memories during those long, hot summer days. We would bathe and feed you all together and care for whatever little one was nearby, hers or mine. You were all ours.
On one of these visits, Carrie had some assortment of cousins and siblings in the big bathtub of our old house on Barbaralee. A couple of them started fighting, as siblings and cousins as close as siblings are wont to do. I've long forgotten who the perpetrators were, but the crux of the issue seemed to be a stolen washcloth. You were standing nearby, waiting for your turn in the soapy water and, with your signature cheerful pragmatism, you walked to a nearby drawer, pulled out a clean washcloth and handed it to Carrie. If a problem was solvable and you could handle it on your own, you did. Carrie was delighted by your initiative. You were only the fourth oldest, not the typical recipient of the "little adult" expectations we tend to layer on our oldest children. But you were independent, confident, sure of the solution; and so, you acted.
Later that same visit, we were debating the logistics of some sort of errand or activity. We were always negotiating comings, goings, and groupings in those days. I can't remember if any of you were old enough to stay alone at that point, but I know for certain that you were not. Nevertheless, you turned your confident gaze to your aunt and said, "Carrie, why can't I just watch them?" (Them being your cousins--older and younger--and yourself).
"Claire, because you are three!" she told you, at which you surely shrugged as if to say, "so?". It didn't make any sense to you. You would certainly have been, at least in your own estimation, capable of handling anything that came your way. Honestly, you were so independent and sure of yourself, you probably could have. Carrie also loves to laugh about you going to get crackers when you wanted a snack. Not that this, in itself, was such an impressive feat, but we kept the crackers on a high shelf, and you had to push a chair over to the counter and then climb all the way up to get them. I had my hands so full by the time you came along, and you proved early how adept you were at independently taking care of yourself. I'm pretty sure I was just relieved to have one less little person to take constant care of. You were taking pretty good care of yourself and saw no reason to interrupt me or any other grownup to track down a snack when you were completely capable of handling it on your own.
When your oldest brother, Sam, was invited to his first ever non-family birthday party in kindergarten, you rode with me to drop him off. It was hosted in an apple orchard, and, as we walked up to the fray, there was a pack of children running noisily among the trees. I was distracted by your sister (a toddler), your brother (shy, clinging to my legs, unhelpful with the gift and his sweatshirt). I looked down to discover you were gone. I gasped and looked around, only to find you cavorting joyfully among the trees with the whooping children. Your brother, the invitee, had to be coaxed into the crowd, but you had joyfully jumped in without hesitation. It was a bit ironic to disappoint two children that fall day--one who desperately wanted to stay and play but wasn't invited, and one who wanted nothing more than to climb back in my minivan and skip the whole thing who was.
I could lay out dozens of other examples of your independence as you grew, but I will end with one more example from your senior year. Over the years, you have continually impressed me with your willingness to make phone calls and schedule meetings, to send emails and raise your hand. As your final year of high school wound down to a close, you hadn't quite managed to secure your dual language certification from the state by conventional means. I had resigned myself to your not having it, assuming that your fluency in Spanish didn't depend on some piece of paper from the Governor, and AI is likely to make the ability to communicate in multiple languages obsolete eventually anyway. But you were unwilling to forgo this recognition, and, independently, found a workaround through your guidance office as school. I emailed a few times with the foreign language coordinator as you were seeking this certification, and I admit I couldn't quite follow the expectations she was laying out for you. I believe there was some kind of test involved? And maybe an in-person interview? It is a testament to your independence that I have no idea what it entailed, except the letter that arrived in the mail congratulating you on its achievement.
I love so much about being a mother, and one of the most wonderful things is watching you and your siblings grow up. Some of you step timidly into the world, and others--you especially--leap in with shining eyes and an eager heart. You are ready for what the world sends your way because you can handle yourself and your life. This is so important to me as a mom: knowing that you are able to independently tackle the challenges your life will send your way.
As I near the end of these tributes to your superpowers, I find that I trip over myself in my effort to lay them all out. Your independence and your confidence and your leadership and your strength all blend together to paint a vivid picture of a vivid, wonderful girl.
There is a meme I love to send that features another well known "independent woman" that I will finish with here. You know this is my favorite response when you ask for my help with something (dare I say you come by this superpower naturally--via your mother?). Feel free to adopt it into your own repertoire in the future. With your superpower of independence, it should be handled.
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