I am somebody’s daughter. I was once held in my mother’s arms swaddled in a pink blanket. Toes were counted and fingers grasped. The words pretty were uttered about me. I have discovered the delight of painting my finger nails for the first time and the dismay of my first period. I, like Whoopie Goldberg before me, have wrapped by nappy curls in a towel to try and make my hair more like my red headed Irish mother. I borrowed my mother’s jewelry for dances and allowed an immense smile to take over my face when my father danced with me at my wedding.
Yes, I am someone’s daughter. I have had the experience of an American girl. I have taken for granted my education, health care and upbringing. I have had my heart broken and brought ice cream and a romantic comedy to bed with me. I have had to grow and mature in the pattern of fail, learn and repeat. Now I am a mother of sons.
I always imagined that I would have a daughter. A little girl with my globe sized eyes and curly hair. I imagined and it has yet to be. I have three sons. I am not disappointed. I have never thought to guess, wish or hope about what gender a child I would have during my pregnancy. My grandmother taught me to never worry about things you cannot control. The sex of a child falls into that category.
My imaginings had me worried about raising my daughter to have character, courage and a fearlessness that would carry her through the world not unscathed, but stronger for her experiences. I want that for my sons too. I can’t help but wonder about the girls my sons will eventually bring home to my table. The question in their eyes to me and the adoration in their eyes for her will find me with a tight stomach hoping for who she is.
Who are these girls that the world is raising? These daughters that are not my own have been a recent point of concern for me. I watch our daughters fighting to determine who they will become. I watch the examples we offer them. The ideals we set before them that have so little to do with their character. I remember being that girl attempting to find who I wanted to be in the clamor of who the world expects you to be. I watched my mother try to tell me that I was smart, funny and perfect-the-way-I-was in contradiction to a world that said that that if I made a few changes I would be almost perfect. Here is my offering to the daughters my sons will meet. A sampling of lessons I continue to learn.
A man may someday call you beautiful. He will compliment your eyes, your lips, the size of your waist and the way you walk. He will surprise you with the obscure parts of you that he finds attractive. Remember this. He must appreciate your mind. When he says you are beautiful, if on the next breath he cannot find anything to compliment relating to your mind then he is not worthy of you. I promise that you will find another man to compliment your looks. What is not behind every door is a man who honors your wisdom.
Your body is your own. It was created and formed. You are not a mistake or a malformation. Nothing you do, no surgery or workout, will make your body like “hers”. No matter who “she” is in the moment. You must learn to adorn your body the way it was made. You must learn to love your body the way it was made. Until that happens, you will never be able to find the perfect black dress, strappy heel or comfy sweater. You will always be shopping for “her”, trying to evolve into “her” and ending up with you wearing an ill-fitting costume.
There is a difference between sexy and having all your glory hanging out. It is true. More skin, more cleavage and shorter skirts will leave you with nothing left to expose. Explore what makes you feel sensual. Give yourself permission to find what makes you feel like you are a decoration that the world is delighted to wear on her arm. For the record, just to be clear, this is not about sex. It is about honoring what makes you unique and delighting in it.
Do not be afraid to be magnificent. The world does not always accept the brightest in the room. Those who are less than will always be threatened by those that seek more than. If you are brilliant, do not hide behind mediocrity. If you are brave, do not feign fear to make the cowards in the room more comfortable. You are our daughters and our hopes live in you, even when we are not aware of it.
Listen. When you hear truth, you will know it. Listen to the wise women in your world. It can be hard to discern who is sharing wisdom but I believe that when we hear truth it moves us. It is powerful. The same is true for falsehoods. When you know that you can be someone great and it is met with disdain you will know that it is untrue. It is a sorrow that not every woman you meet will be whole enough to encourage your dreams but it is the truth.
This is not an exhaustive list. I do not claim to know everything about being a woman of character. I would love to hear what you would add. We can continue to evolve into great women together. These are some notes that have fallen on my heart in my observations. This is my version of a Daughters of the World Justice League Mission Statement rough draft.
When you look at your daughter in her prom dress, I hope that you tell her that she will be the most beautiful girl in the room. More importantly, when she comes home by her curfew, make sure you praise her for her integrity. I hope that when she shares her dreams with you that they are all worthy to be weighed and measured in your eyes. I hope that you praise her for her courage and commitment to her convictions. Even the ones you don’t agree with. Never, for any reason, withhold your love from her. In this world, the sons and daughters we raise will have to be strong enough to hold on to themselves while fiercely blazing their own path.
Tashmica Torok is a local entrepreneur, blogger and community activist. She is the co-owner of Heritage Flooring, a professional flooring installation company, the Mid-Michigan Coordinator for the Michigan Darfur Coalition and the author of the popular blog Mother Flippin’: One Funny Mother.
For more information about Tashmica or her small independent business visit, www.mother-flippin.blogspot.com or www.thetorokheritage.net.
