[Warning: this is a gushing blog about my daughter. Pardon the over-the-top levels of pride.]
Recently, my daughter asked me to be the audience as she practiced her final literature project for the term. I gladly accepted the invite, eager to listen, since I inevitably learn something each time I bear witness to her work.
As she reviewed her powerpoint slides and read notes aloud, I was struck by the reality of the situation. When did that little fairy sprite grow up into a brilliant writer and feminist? The project was about “The Color Purple.” She was fired up about her claims, energized the further she ventured into the argument. I listened, asked questions, and added a few notes – not that she needed ANY help from me.
We’ve been told by all of her teachers that she’s a prolific writer, producing college-level papers. This year’s instructor said that colleagues have been sending him her essays for the last two years. He apparently knew my daughter’s writing before he ever really met her.
I am a proud mom. How could I be anything else? I’ve had a front row seat to the growth, challenges, joys and sadness of her life. All of the bittersweet moments, the struggles, the victories.
And all of this as we use technology constantly. It’s not easy being a teenager now. It’s more complicated. More cruel. One can instantly build up or destroy another, with just a few clicks. That’s the overwhelming way of the world now, even for adults. But my daughter seems to be handling all of this with ease. Way better than I would have.
When she was younger, I’d sing her to sleep every night. At some point, I discovered the song “I Hope You Dance,” by Lee Ann Womack. I played it for my daughter and told her the words were my wishes for her life. One Mother’s Day, she created a movie filled with pictures of the two of us, to that song. It makes me so happy.
When we’re together, we are ridiculous. We laugh so much and get so silly. It’s out of control sometimes. But those are the best moments of my day. Truly.
Taller than I am, (though most people are), I can look up at my beautiful baby girl and see the woman she’ll become and not long from now. Kind, intelligent, empathetic and funny. The songs she writes, the videos she creates, her writing – things that are uniquely HER. We are very lucky.
So, returning to that homework moment, I ended my visit to my daughter’s room by saying she should have a glitter cannon – filled appropriately with purple glitter – to fire off at the end of her presentation. She laughed, knowing my belief that glitter makes everything better. (Well, it really does).
My daughter is the best gift I’ve ever received. And the best gift I can offer the world.
She’s already dancing.
Peace and painlessness,