Friday, July 28, 2017


Dearest Daughter,

I miss you.

I can say that now, here. Because you won’t read this until years from now, when it no longer matters. I do not want you to feel guilty as I did, constantly listening to my mother and grandmother mourning how I used to be, as though my growing up had been a personal affront. And I do not now nor ever want you to slow up or feel shamed or apologetic for growing into a strong and healthy young woman. So I keep my mouth shut in the here and now

But God I miss you.

I miss the time we spent together. I miss every game we played. I miss every minute of the times you allowed me into the bright world of your childhood. I was grateful, for I knew it was a “limited-time offer” which would end. I just never counted on how fast it would go or much I would miss it - and the you you were then.

At the same time, I used to think that there were only two of you – child, and adolescent. And I’m starting to gain enough distance to recognize that that is not so. You were not one single person throughout childhood, but many.  One day, it was all about stuffed animals and setting up classrooms with them. Then it was all about Barbies and their relationships. Then it was all about making up dances. Then it was all about card games. Then it was all about…

And I can see now that each of those were not just changes of interest, but changes of you – demarcations of the fundamental shifts in your being. So where we are now is not something new after all… just the same dance we’ve always done, even if the music has changed.

Which is comforting.

So I miss deeply the closeness we once had, and the time I once was allowed to share with you. But I loved all your other selves – and survived their transitions. So there is no reason to think I won’t love all your future selves and all the future transitions just as well.

So go be who you need to be today. And change it all tomorrow if need be. Grow! And NEVER feel you have to apologize for it.

You old man loves you, no matter who you are.