A Letter to My Daughter Before She Starts First Grade

Galvan_16

Before you were born and I envisioned your academic career. I foresaw academic and/or parochial private schools; swanky and rigid uniforms that you’d feel were akin to a straight jacket, unwavering academic succession where your only goal was to be better than everyone else (and you would be, girl, I know you would be), perform well on the test, do whatever you would have to do to go to the Ivy Leagues some day.

And then you were born, and without uttering a single word you changed my whole world view. On everything.

I knew you were too unique and spirited for a uniform at such a young age; you would not be easy to mold into the robot I thought you’d be. You were so much more than a test score or a letter grade. You were more than the very finest schools could possibly offer. And let’s face it, we’d never be able to afford Ivy League anyway (although we both know if it were your dream and you did get in, I’d sell my organs on the black market to make it happen).

And so I shirked those deep seeded notions of what I was supposed to want for you, and instead embraced the you I was given . And oh – what a gem I was given!

As I slowly morphed into the free range, mostly non-punitive, let-the-children-lead momma I am now. I lavished in the idea of having you home with me every day, until I could no longer keep you here as mine.

As a quiet, introverted kid I longed to spend my days at home, away from my peers, in the confines of my room, learning anything and everything my heart could desire through the written word. I wanted to be one of those homeschoolers that everyone always talked about as being weird. I was weird. I’d knew I’d be okay.

And so as my heart and brain changed to be the momma you needed, I began daydreaming about our own homeschooling ventures. How our years would play out.

But you know what? You weren’t the little girl of those fantasies either. You were even better. So much better than I could have ever imagined: vivacious, outgoing, charismatic, and tenacious. You craved more than I could give you, which often left me filling not quite up to par when it came to playing the role of your momma.

So again, I had to shift my views and my focus. I all ready knew what wasn’t going to work for you; as I said, your spirit is too bright and precocious for much of the traditional world. So thoughtful, creative, and innovative.

So when the call came that you’d been given a spot to a school that fitted all of your needs, I came up with 100 reasons why it wasn’t going to work. Too expensive. Too hot. Too much time away. Too, too, too…

But then there was you. Beautiful, perfect you. Smiling, talking, engaging. All those “toos” were moot points because this is where you belong right now. Today. In this season of your life.

I learned long ago not to make sweeping statements like “all” or “never.” So I don’t know if this is a long-term fit, or if some day you’ll gravitate elsewhere. Maybe that elsewhere would be back home. Or maybe it will be further away from me.

But I do know that right now you’re going to thrive here. You are going to grow and soar.

And so long as we keep working as a team, listening to one another, it’s all going to work out and be okay. Even if I have to constantly be changing my views, shifting my focus, to make sure I am meeting your needs, and not too caught up in my own wants.

This is your journey, sweet girl. This is your story. You deserve to be the author of it, not me.

 

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