If Camille had started building the Parthenon on the day she was born, in only two years, she would already be done.
When I was her age...I can hardly bear to think how clue-less I was. She is much more clue-full. Although no more equipped to face finishing the Parthenon. But it's not like she would have had to have built the Parthenon by herself, so never mind.
Okay, so at 17 Joan of Arc led the French army into battle and Judy Garland made $150K in 1936 dollars playing Dorothy and I think Blaise Pascal got off tumblr every once in a while or he wouldn't have had time to invent the calculator.
But there will be time for all that later in life, after she stops scrolling through instagram. I'll help her after I finish my tea, but first, let me adjust the color in this photo.
Ann Oakley was a crack shot by 15. But there will be time for that after I buy Camille a soft scarf and more minutes on her phone and we watch the sad, sad orca movie and I give her her new slippers and boots, and we get the creams for her eczema and her favorite shampoo and we sit at the gelato place on the plaza.
Later Camille will study for the art history test, review the vocabulary works for the quiz in English and finish the essay, while listening to music. I'm sure painting her nails would help her do better on the test, which do I need to remind her? Is tomorrow.
There will be time later to be depressed, maybe even while we are at Ikea. Or when we walk back from town because I refuse to pay for another $20 taxi ride. I hate Switzerland on Sundays when everything is closed and we have to buy eggs at the gas station. But if I get her gummy bears, maybe she will do the little happy dance or fill out the application for a state school in California.
Aunt Valerie was cooking dinners and working at a bank and had a successful business up her leg-o-mutton-sleeved wedding dress by the time she was 17.
And by the time Nicolo Paganini was 17, he had dazzled audiences with his violin virtuosity. But then he had to pawn his violin to pay gambling debts--so I guess splurging on Swiss chocolate isn't so bad, even if we can't get the leather Burberry pants or the new thing in a Louis Vuiton box your roommate's mother bought for her this weekend.
There is still time to build the Parthenon and save the semester math grade, if we get in touch with a tutor.
Maybe we will figure out how Susan Hinton wrote The Outsiders by the time she was 17, after Camille eats her pasta alla carbonara and I finish my glass of presseco.