My Adapted Prayer for My Daughter

I finished Tina Fey's Bossypants this weekend. I loved every minute of it. Poor Joe had to put up with me laughing and then reading him a page of text about every five minutes. The novel included a chapter entitled, "A Mother's Prayer for Her Daughter". I think that it is amazing. I have included the chapter here with my own additions in brackets.

"First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the [JMU] logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty [and damage only comes with catastrophe and that is something that I wish her to never know].

When the Crystal Meth is offered, may she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half and stick with Beer [light beer, and only in college].

Guide her, protect her when [doing anything in the dark], crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, [talking to rednecks], stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or [haunted houses], and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes and not have to wear high heels. [Allow her to love her job so much that it feels like a blessing to get up in the morning instead of a burden].

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers [or at least let that phase be short and full of fun stories and not heartbreak, because really... we all have that phase].

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen. Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, That she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers and the online marketing campaign for [anything that doesn't involve turning a classic novel into a crappy movie].

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back.

“My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.

Amen."

I hope you have enjoyed being in Joe's shoes for a moment and "listening to me read" my favorite section of the book that made me laugh, think, and become nostalgic for something that has yet to occur.