blog.lib.umn.edu Dearest

Dearest Daughter,

No one tells you how to be a parent.  There are no operating instructions issued with each new baby.  No owner’s manual, tech support, or directions to follow. There is no toll free number at which you can reach a soothing unintelligible foreign sounding voice to talk you through it.  Ignorance is bliss, as no one can be prepared for life with a child. And since each individual born into this world is a unique personality unto him or herself, no instruction book could ever cover the limitless variations on the basic product.  As a parent, you are on your own....  

Of course in days preceding your birth, none of this worried me.  You had an older sibling that had served as guinea pig.  That was going quite well. Well enough that the idea of two was very appealing.  So now I had a second daughter.  How much better can it get?  There was nothing different to learn, no unfamiliar parts to deal with, and no new clothing expense.  This was going to be a piece of cake….or so I thought.   The thing is, I was making my plans based on what had become the usual and expected, largely predicated upon what I knew about your sister; a contented and happy child who grazed and foraged her way through the produce section at the store from the child seat in the shopping cart looking forward to the complimentary cookie from the Deli if she behaved.  How was I to know that there was nothing usual or expected about you?  What other two year old would shriek at the top of her lungs “HELP ME, HELP ME, SHE’S NOT MY MOMMY, SHE’S NOT MY MOMMY!!!”  As I had to forcibly remove you from Payless during a raging temper tantrum.  Thank God no one called a cop. Had I been engaging in any self reflection at that time, I would have remembered the stories your grandfather told about removing me from a store under similar circumstances, and I might have had a clue.  

You were child with an insatiable curiosity about how things worked. At the beginning I had you pegged for an engineer as you were always fascinated by switches and plugs.  I learned through this curiosity of yours that I was still pretty agile, even after the birth of two children, executing perfect flying saves as you headed toward electrical outlets with a fork extended in your hand. (I also wondered about the possibility of Proctology as you often approached the south side of the cat in the same manner, sans fork.) And at one time your life’s ambition was to run the scanner at Wal Mart-but that phase only lasted a couple of years.  As you grew your interests turned more to the natural world and the creatures in it.  How can I describe my delight one day when you called to me from the bottom of the stairs holding a month dead possum by the end of its skeletal tail, pleased as could be at this astounding and wonderful discovery.  

Philosophy was also an early interest of yours as I found out one night as we were rocking in the rocking chair, a nightly bedtime ritual.  I thought you were close to sleep when you looked up at me and asked,

“Mommy, what is love?”   

Me: Love is what a mother feels for her little girl that she will always try to keep safe and close.”

You:  “Will you always love me?”

Me:  “Yes I always will.”

You: “I love you too mommy.”

Me: “That’s very nice.”

You: “Mommy can I ask a question?”

Me: “Of course.”

You: “Why do you have hair in your nose?”You were obviously a deep thinker at a very early age.  

My daughter the Fashionista emerged by the time you were three and demanded to be allowed to choose what you would wear each day.  “Dressing ourselves, are we?” I remember one of your pre-school teachers asking. The question was elicited no doubt by the creative combination of plaid and polka dots selected that morning.  Upon further reflection I realized that you wore what made you happy and feel good about yourself whether it went together or not.  At the time I remember thinking that was a pretty good idea, perhaps something everyone should do.  For that matter, I still think so.   

You never met an activity that you didn’t want to try-well, the exception would be anything involving running or sweating, so soccer, basketball and tennis were out. (Though you did have a brief flirtation with tennis when you realized that the balls didn’t hurt as much as a softball when they hit you in the eye. (Your sister always did have a pretty good arm….) In any event you provided amusement to the assembled throng at the Elementary School Summer Rec sign up when you were asked if you were there to sign up for softball and you responded, “Softball?  No, I’m here for the tennis, where is the tennis?”Your sports career was always an iffy proposition anyway as while you have considerable athletic talent you never cared much for being coached or playing by the rules.     

Many days I have wondered how this larger than life personality came to live in my house. How did this kid with a plan who is so comfortable in her own skin come to be?  Conforming has never been a part of your DNA.  I remember your second grade teacher calling me to ask for my help in getting you to color inside the lines-it wasn’t that you didn’t know how, she explained, it was simply that you refused.  What the old bat didn’t realize is that refusal to color inside the lines has been a metaphor for your life which I suppose I am guilty of encouraging; being the one who never met a rule that didn’t need to be broken and a true believer that forgiveness is easier to obtain than permission.   

There is a price to pay for retaining your individuality and steadfastly clinging to your own truths, as that has also been my story, but there are rewards beyond measure as well.  I should know as you are one of my greatest rewards.  The last 18 years have been a journey that I wouldn’t have missed for anything.   I am not exactly sure where the time went.  We sure squeezed in an awful lot of fun though, didn’t we? Probably more than the law allows-  I guess I thought those late nights when you came blasting into my room to talk about what was on your mind that day just as I was about to fall asleep would never end. Silly me. Visualizing what happens a few years down the road has never been my strong suit.  When I was 16 conventional boomer wisdom told us never to trust anyone over 30.  Don’t recollect what I thought was going to happen when I myself turned 30-or even considered that I would turn 30.  It’s a bad habit I haven’t been able to lose, so in a sense this moment has kind of taken me by surprise.  I will miss the long car rides and the detours in order to take in the scenic routes, with you and your sister yelling, “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHERE WE ARE?” But  we always got there didn’t we?  Wherever there was.  I will miss the daily news updates on all your friends as we took our nightly walks with the dogs and I will even miss tripping over all the shoes strewn throughout the house.   I will miss listening to you sing late at night or the mummer of your voice as you talk to your friends on the phone.  But I am also very excited that you will begin the life that has been in the planning stages since you were five years old. (And keep in mind that should push come to shove, you are still my retirement plan.)  

I once read that children are like kites and that a parent’s job is to slowly unwind the string as they begin to soar. One day you realize that the string is let out and they are flying free.  And so it is with you. It appears that my work is almost done as it seems that I am hanging on to the very end of the string.  So World, I give you my daughter, the Amazing Miss Thang.  I for one can’t wait to see what happens next. 

 I guess if the truth were told, I wouldn’t have read an owner’s manual even if I had one.  Happy Graduation.

Love,

Mom