7/25/2012

Dear Papa,

Once, you had a dream that
some boy had hurt me.
Mama woke you up with your hands around her neck,
because you wanted to crush him.
"Boys are jerks." you say periodically, shaking your head
 starting early,
while Mama braided my pigtails.
Maybe you thought if you started early enough,
you could protect me from all of the mistakes,
or that I would learn not to take it
personally.
Or that I would stay your daughter and
only your daughter.
That the eyes that fell on me would notice only the
curves of my smile,
and that every smile that befell me would be genuine.
It didn't work, of course.
Like every other daughter, I grew into
a little woman,
 and like all little women,
I make mistakes
and take it all personally.
They smile ironic half-smiles,
and I'm not sure whether to cry or
laugh;
because it really doesn't matter.
 your hands,once giant to my infant fingers,
don't need to crush anyone.
These things happen, you know.
I don't think the
mistakes
will ever stop.
But maybe, someday I'll make fewer (not less, Papa, I know),
and when I meet the man who
will someday tell my daughters, "Boys are jerks."
I'll know better than to take things
so personally.

Thank you for wanting to protect me.

Love,
yr daughter