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My daughter, herself

09.25.09 | daughters | 44 Comments

The other night I was helping Sally with her homework. I am fundamentally opposed to homework for elementary school kids, but Sally, age 8, third grade, feels better if she does it. So I help her with it. And some of it isn’t bad; it’s games for her to play with a parent, or a twenty-minute reading assignment that she does over by a factor of ten.

That night we were doing math. Mr. Bennet helped her first the night before, but he does not see math as clearly as I do, so I took over. Sally tells me that she doesn’t like math, isn’t good at it, it’s hard.

This breaks my heart. Why? Because I was good at math. Ergo, the oldest fruit of my womb is also good at math. Naturally. (Ergo, also, anything she wants to master she can, though we are not responsible for musical aspirations.)

(And when I explain it to her visually, concrete-ly, metaphorically, the light does go on.)

I asked her about piercing her ears at eight, because I was eight when I got my ears pierced.

She likes many foods that I did not as a child, but when she gags at the thought of onions or garlic, I smile tolerantly. More for me, I say, and you might change your mind when you’re older, I say.

I joke a lot about not looking forward to the teen (and pre-teen!) years with my three daughters. If they are anything like I was at that age, we are going to need a lot more kleenex, several beater cars, and patience as vast as the Sargasso Sea.

If they are anything like they are now, and barring alien personality-transplants they should at least resemble their current selves, it’s going to be awesome, a cross between Little House on the Prairie, Rainbow Valley, and Little Women, only with better hair, fewer Presbyterians, and no infallibly-wise Susan Sarandon mother figure. (Just me).

I read a post the other day where a mother was complaining about how difficult her daughter (also eight) is. Mother and daughter fight over what the daughter will wear to school. The daughter throws a tantrum to end all tantrums after not being allowed to cut bangs in her hair like her older sister. Mom and dad prefer their girl with long, thick hair, so no bangs it is. The daughter holds it together at the stylist, then cries inconsolably for an hour once home over wanting her hair how she wanted her hair.

And all the comments, many from mothers of similar daughters, commiserate. So sorry you have to deal with such a recalcitrant daughter! So headstrong! So willful! So impossible!

I check my calendar. And my passport. This is the twenty-first century, right? This is America?

Of course there are forms of self-expression that I will try my hardest to stamp out. Smoking. Sex before marriage. Swearing of the excessive and uncreative variety.

But bangs? Plaids paired with polka dots?

H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks, GIRL, shave your head if it makes you feel better! Wear magenta with burgundy! Ride your bike faster than all the boys! Get mud on your face! Everyday!

(Just don’t say math is too hard.)

totally unrelated, but fun to read

44 Comments


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