I’ve been thinking about this blog (while not blogging for six weeks or more—crikey!) as a series of letters and stories that my children will read when they are young adults. At the moment, I don’t know if I can think of a better gift for my children. In that spirit:

Dear Mimi,
You turned 3 this summer. I would love to try to describe you so that another person reading this letter would see this rambunctious, loving girl that you are. To start, I’ll just tell a few stories.
When you see someone you know, like a neighbor who is the parent of one of your many friends on the block, you often run screaming to them. It’s pure joy, and it says ‘Look at me! It’s me! I’m here!” without a smidgen of emotional reserve that the use of words requires. It’s not because you lack words. You are very articulate for a 3-year-old.

Several weeks ago, before you started school, I wrote this in a journal:

She has just learned to pedal her bike with training wheels. And while Posey and I play on the slide, Mimi goes to do a lap around the school. She happily pedals slower than her walking pace. Does a good job of muscling her way over bumps or out of a stall. She is out of my sight for several minutes, and this is one of the things I like about her biking. For a short while, she is on her own, out in the world but in a safe place. Can’t see or hear Daddy. Has to pedal her bike to get around the school. Posey and I eventually walk the opposite way and meet her.

MIMI: I talked to myself so that I wouldn’t be frightened. Because this bike is tippy.
ME: What did you say to yourself?
MIMI: I just said ‘Don’t be frightened, Mimi. You’re okay.’

Since then, I’ve thought about why I'm so proud of this little exchange. Here it is: Language is power, little girl.

Some kids develop big vocabularies and verbal ability earlier than other kids. I don’t think it matters much, except at the extremes. In other words, the preschooler who is year behind his peers is not really behind in any significant way. The child who is five years behind is in trouble.

But I think that the confidence you displayed as you pedaled around the school is, in part, connected to your ability to talk to yourself out loud. To say, “Don’t be frightened, Mimi. You’re okay.” If you didn't have the words, you might not have been so confident.

This is just one example. When you have the words to express what you feel, and what you think, and what you want to feel, and think, or discover, then you have some power over the world around you. This is power that may escape you otherwise. What I am saying, is that one of the reasons I am proud of you is that I think you are a powerful girl.

Don’t worry, we don’t coddle you any more than any loving parent of a child does, maybe even less, because I think coddling in excess can be dangerous. Neither do we think you some prodigy.

Several months ago, your mother was crossing the street with you and you asked why we had to obey the traffic lights and signs. The words out of your mother’s mouth made me laugh so much: “You’re not special.” She just meant that you have to follow the rules like everyone else. But I loved the fact that here was a modern American mother telling her daughter, “You are not special.” We need a little more of that in parenting, in my opinion, followed by a good hug, a kiss on the cheek, and at least three stories. Four, if you ask nicely.

Love,
Daddy