WHY MY DAUGHTER IS SO WONDERFUL

I know many people who think their children are wonderful. I know many who think they aren't.

When I hear some of the horror stories that people relate when talking about the teenage years, the fears that they had about what their children were doing when they weren't watching, or, the pain that they have suffered, I don't know what they are talking about.

My daughter and I had two disagreements in our lifetime. One when she was about ten and walked out of the room when I was talking to her and one when she was nineteen and neither of us could figure out how she was going to go out into the world on her own. For some reason, because we loved each other so much, I suppose, just saying that it was time to go wasn't possible for either of us. So we argued over a sandy blanket brought back from the beach and put on my bed. That was it. The biggest argument was basically about separation anxiety, for the both of us.

I never hit my child. I was brought up in an abusive household and swore that I would never revert to violence as a way to communicate with my child. I spent years terrified that at any moment I would fall into the old cliché of abused children growing into abusers. I later decided that that whole premise was just a continuation of the abuse and I didn't buy into it anymore.

When my daughter smoked marijuana for the first time, she came home, plopped her butt in a chair and said, "I'm never going to do that again. Now I know why they call it 'stoned.' I felt like a rock and couldn't move." I felt overjoyed. Not that she had smoked dope. Not that she was never going to do it again. No, because she felt she could come home and tell me about it without being concerned over any overreaction on my part. I am lucky she trusted me that much.

I watched as my daughter did things I could never do. Things I have never done. I see her having the same job for seventeen years. I maxed out once at seven. I see her having a relationship with her son that I wish I could have had with her. I was always so afraid of making a mistake that my own sense of playfulness was sometimes censored. I see her
confronting her fears openly and directly. Not always at optimum speed, but, who does? I have seen her grow from a delightful child to an extremely competent woman. I see her concern for others around her. I watch her confront racism, sexism, classism and homophobia directly whenever it rears its ugly head in front of her.

She is so tenderhearted that I sometimes worry for her pain. But, it is her tenderheartedness and magnificent character that has brought about this post.

She is insisting that this year we not spend much money on gifts for each other and instead give it to a local volunteer organization. It reminds me of when she was nine years old and
a fire destroyed an apartment building here in town. Without a word, she got up, went to her room and gathered some of her toys, clothes and her piggybank to take to the people who had been displaced. She wasn't asked to do it, she just "knew" what was right. She had empathy and knew what to do with it.

Giving to those that need is something we all think about. We all do it, probably, to one extent or another. But not as much as we could, or are able to. I feel as if I have received the greatest gift that there is. I don't need anything else. I have more than enough of the things of this life. And, this year, she has given me the greatest gift of all. I know the world is a better place because of her. And I am grateful that she makes me grow into her dream of what the world can be. I am so very blessed because of her and my grandson. I celebrate their lives.

I know this is pretty mushy for me. But, if one thing holds true, there is nothing like your children to bring out the mushiness. Does this make my blog a mommy blog?