Letter to My Daughter

When your mom told me she was pregnant with you, I was petrified. Even though we wanted to have a baby, I wasn’t truly ready. But, is anyone truly ready? I kept thinking about how I might mess up and cause you harm, either by dropping you on the ground (which did happen) or by hindering you from reaching your full potential. As you’ve grown, I’ve realized that while I have messed up at times, those mess ups haven’t hindered you and your trajectory.

As you go off to college, two images of you keep popping up in mind, both from years ago in Louisiana. The first is a picture of you at five years old outside of Judice Inn. You’re standing by the door with a green hoodie over your head and a toothpick in your mouth, pointing it upward. You have a snarl on your face, that look that exudes confidence and assertiveness. Even then, you knew who you were and you knew that no one could deny you yourself.

The other image is from a year later. You’re standing next to an oak tree on the campus where I was attending graduate school, holding your hands out in front of you in the shape of a heart and screaming at the camera. Again, you’re strong and independent, basically holding up a middle finger to anyone who tries to define you or tell you what to think and do. You’re saying to the world, “I’m here. I know who I am. I know what’s right, and I will fight for it.”