She slides over close we giggle about the wild boys around us. As the adventure closes, we pile into a seat on the bus, our hands and ears chilly from being in the crisp fall air all day. She doesn't want me to buddy up to her teachers and laugh with her classmates. She doesn't want to show or prove anything. But for most of the day, she stays close to me, almost on top of me - on the bus, at lunch, through the exhibits. I am excited to observe, to watch her interact with teachers and peers in her everyday environment. One day, I skip out of work, secure extra childcare and join her class as a chaperone on a field trip. I can't help but think, there's something about this girl. When it feels like there is just one worthy road to honor, and walking it should look easy. Where every day is an attempt to polish perfection, shined with dazzling accolades and ambitions. Don't just face the world with courage, act like nothing scares you. In my preference to have her encompass every ounce of life with fearless ease, when I urge her to be all things, I am saying please, my daughter, do not expose my weaknesses, my fears. But, in raising a child to be true and real, I cannot ask for the impossible.
In fact, I have dedicated a fair portion of my life's work to helping others do just that. Yes, I am determined to raise a confident girl. Then one day, as I privately compile this list, the awareness bites me. I want her eager, confident, unafraid, outgoing, a math whiz, an all-star, charming, genuine, social, polite, outstanding. As if I've got it right and she's got the work to do. And sometimes, when I list our differences, it is often in jest.
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