The Gift

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When my daughter was little, I hoped that she wouldn’t stop drawing pictures for me. So far I’ve been lucky that I still get these gifts, even though the interval between new ones has grown longer over her fifteen years.

These pictures are my best window into my daughter’s evolving self. When I look back at my early years, I really wish I had just kept drawing pictures for my mother instead of acting out my angst in silly, sometimes destructive ways. The contrast between the cat’s melancholy and the Pomeranian’s exuberance says much about my daughter.

Last week, I told her, “You are so far ahead of where I was at your age. I was lost in my appetites, wearing the same size clothes as Roseanne Barr and drinking MD 20/20.”

I don’t worry that she’ll try to copy my teenage self. She shows no signs of wasting her energy on liquor, cigarettes, or indifferent boys.