From behind her locked bedroom door I hear her singing, humming, dancing, laughing, talking with friends, and silent. I know that, within her private sanctuary, she is reading, writing, living, and loving. She shares her poetry with me. I get to read her fan fic. I get to hear the songs she is willing to share. With a sense of wonder, I think to myself, that's MY girl!
She attires herself with style and personality. She carries herself with the seeming dichotomous qualities of dignity and timidity. She shares her deepest self with me with such courage and trust that I am humbled. She carries qualities of every other woman in my family and in Jerry's family. She, while being a kaleidoscope of past females, is distinctively herself. She carries her shoulders back and her head up high. That is my girl.
She is able to stand in front of crowds of strangers and receive their attention, their applause, their energy. She can stand there as they rise to their feet and clap hands with the thrill of acclaim and ovations. It is a wonder to see her accept those accolades with a bowed head and quiet smile. That is my girl.
She quietly lounges with her reading or her writing, continually trying on fictional "lives" and, thereby, standing up for who SHE is. She accepts my apologies and my love as I patiently learn anew and again the best ways to love this child. She struggles with some qualities of "self" while fiercely hanging on to who she is determined to be. She forges her own way through the unforgiving treacheries of adolescence. She sings her own tune. That is my girl.
Looking in to my daughter's eyes I see determination, defiance, curiosity and wisdom, teasing, trust. I see the sunshine of her spirit, a spirit indomitable and exquisite. The soft grey-blue eyes play with the colors she surrounds herself with. Her hesitant smile, while awaiting your goodwill, steadfastly offers her good heart. She looks at me and I know she is happy. She shares the things that thrill her. She is moved by love and sweetness. She is the early morning of hope. She is my girl.
She loops her arms about my shoulders, gathering me close. She touches her cheek with mine as we feel one another smile. She wraps herself tightly around me, somehow leaving space for her independence. She hold my hand as I drive. She offers me her mints. She shares her secrets and her hopes and the loves of her life with me, late in the night, quiet as midnight. She giggles and dances with her dad in a dance of pure love. And, when the moon is just right, she offers us the very best of herself. She is my girl.
She and I are writing a play together as well as working on other projects together. Deep inside, I feel solid as a rock. She is my girl.
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