From a girl to a woman, unseen

March 25, 2007

She spent most of the game in an almost feral crouch.

The girls surrounding her concentrated as much as she did, almost oblivious to the cheers from the small but enthusiastic crowd. The small red and white ball flew from one side of the court to the other, and people shouted encouragement to the various girls playing. The excited yelps of a 3-year old could be heard over the cacophony of voices.

&#8220Go Ashlyn!” &#8220Go Shannon!” &#8220Go Taylor!” and &#8220Go Steelers!” echoed in the middle school gymnasium. The last cheer was from aforementioned 3-year old. He was still working out the nuances of the game.

His father would have been proud.

With this volleyball game in a gym filled with excited sixth grade girls and their families, I watched my stepdaughter compete for the first time in her life.

She was somewhat petite compared to the other girls, her long brown hair with its blonde highlights caught in a high ponytail. She was also fairly quiet, expressing her excitement at the game with a wide smile that lit up her face and made her hazel eyes glow.

As I watched her, I marveled at the changes that had taken place in her since I had first met her and I desperately wished her father could see what I could that day.

She was 3 when we first met, a shy and reticent child who hid her head in her father's chest when we were introduced. A single dad with weekend custody at the time, his attempts to fix her long fine hair into pig tails was a dismal failure. On one side, her hair had half fallen out of the loose band and on the other there was a lonely lock of hair sticking straight out of the top of her head.

I fell in love with her then and there. It took me a bit longer with her father, but I eventually came around.

I also insisted on fixing her hair before they left my office that day.

I reminisced on that afternoon, almost 10 years ago, this past week. My stepdaughter is now an official &#8220tween,” torn between the young woman she is rapidly becoming and the beloved images and toys of her childhood.

As she stood in the gymnasium, took careful aim and perfectly served the volleyball across the net, her team and the crowd cheered for her. She gave a quick embarrassed grin to everyone, and made another perfect serve for yet another point.

Several people beside me rooted for her as her little brother continued to cheer for the Pittsburgh Steelers, Big Bird and popcorn. Her baby sister gaily spit up on the coat of the woman next to me and clapped her chubby hands.

And I, I watched this beautiful young woman on the court.

I remember sitting next to her all night when she had the flu and Saturday mornings when we would lounge on the couch together and make her father bring us pancakes. I remember spending hours on her hair, braiding it before bedtime so it would be curly the next day and meticulously curling it for family portraits.

I remember laughing as she and her father spent an entire weekend putting together perfect dioramas for school, and him patiently explaining the addition of fractions to her at an airport in Seattle.

I remember telling her, after the brother we had given her and after the two small brothers her mother had with her stepfather, that we had learned I was having a girl.

I remember the tears in her eyes that day as we sat at a local ice cream parlor, when she learned that she was

finally going to have her baby

sister.

All this, and so much more, went through my mind this past week as I watched her play volleyball.

I took so many pictures that she wasn't aware of, just so that her father could share in the experience of watching his little girl, his first baby, his adored princess grow up.

Just a little bit of growing up that afternoon, mind you.

There's no need, no hurry to rush this. But every time I see her I notice something different, something more mature.

And I sometimes wish I could stop the clock with her and freeze her exactly as she is for just a little while.

I wish she would hold off on growing up until her daddy is here, and she stays his baby for a while longer.

But I also know that is a foolish dream, one that drifts away as soon as I think it.

After the game, we went to a local fast food joint for dinner, where she rolled her eyes at her little brother's antics and cooed at her baby sister.

I saw again a glimpse of the young woman she will become and the young girl she still is today.

And I feel blessed that I am a part of her life.

Tiffany Horvath is the mother of two and the

stepmother of one. Her

husband, Drew, is deployed to Iraq. She writes every Sunday abut life at home for the wife of a deployed soldier.