To Cora, Age 7
It occurred to me today that I've written a lot about you, and written letters to you for the future, but I've never captured you in a letter. Words will never capture all of you, regardless, but a cool summer morning seemed like a good time to write words that tell the world a little bit more about you.
You entered our world at a time when it was completely saturated with boys: your dad, your brothers, the two hundred college students in our building... I hadn't dared to hope for a little girl, but I wanted you. And as the years have gone by, I see why. You brought fingernail polish and bows and pigtails into my world. But you also brought giggles, conversations with our heads together, long moments just learning what it means to be a woman. You've brought sweetness and insights and perspectives that were unique to you. And even at the young age of seven, you've brought friendship--the kind of connection between women that can never be completely described, but is always felt.
You've got such a unique blend of personality. You are quiet, reserved, composed. You hold back in new situations, taking it all in without a word. You watch everything and everyone around you until you understand your part; then you jump in with gusto.
You know your own mind, even now. You--more than your brothers--won't do something unless you've decided to do it. You didn't walk until a year and a half because it hadn't yet been your idea. But on the day you made up your mind, you were proficient by suppertime. It was the same with potty training, reading, and so many other milestones. Once you've set your mind to it, and not a second before, you jump in with both feet and completely master the thing.
You have a sweetness, a charm, that will open so many doors for you. Your smile lights up a room and draws people to you, and the kind actions that accompany it will win you many friends in many places. I'll never forget the day, when you were all of about eighteen months old, when I was scrubbing our kitchen floor on my hands and knees. You came up behind me, rubbed my back with your little toddler hand, and whispered, "Sweet, sweet Mama." The memory has come to mind often as I've watched you in your sweet interactions with others since. At the same time, you are far from a social butterfly. Your list of real friends is small, and you hold them close. You are loyal and very much devoted to your inner circle of friends, and I hope you always have a core of good friends to lean on.
We used to call you "whirly twirly." Actually, your Daddy called you that. You were sing-songey, sweet, and danced your way through the days before you could even walk. You still have a musicality and a fairy quality that makes us smile. But underlying all of that is strength that I don't think you've recognized yet. Some of it has to do with being the youngest with two big brothers. You've had to learn how to throw a punch, play football, and keep up with your brothers' antics from the first. It's given you grit and a certain amount of determination. But some of it is you. The same stubborn streak that has at times gotten you in trouble, the same reluctance to do things until you're ready, will also give you strength of mind and character in your grown-up years. You won't budge unless you believe the action is right. You won't keep quiet if you feel there's been injustice. You won't hesitate to step up and be a leader when one is needed, but you will lead from a place of kindness, compassion, and absolute strength of mind and character.
Cora, at seven it's impossible to predict what you will be--who you will be--in the years to come. But as we watch your personality unfold layer by layer, each year only confirms how beautiful you are inside and out. I can't wait to watch each new layer reveal more year by year. You will be shaped by life, by circumstances, by pain, and by joy. But I hope you always retain these pillars of your personality, these centers of strength. They've made you who you are at seven, and they will open many doors for you at thirty-seven. You are a force to be reckoned with, sweet girl, and I couldn't be prouder to stand behind you.
You entered our world at a time when it was completely saturated with boys: your dad, your brothers, the two hundred college students in our building... I hadn't dared to hope for a little girl, but I wanted you. And as the years have gone by, I see why. You brought fingernail polish and bows and pigtails into my world. But you also brought giggles, conversations with our heads together, long moments just learning what it means to be a woman. You've brought sweetness and insights and perspectives that were unique to you. And even at the young age of seven, you've brought friendship--the kind of connection between women that can never be completely described, but is always felt.
You've got such a unique blend of personality. You are quiet, reserved, composed. You hold back in new situations, taking it all in without a word. You watch everything and everyone around you until you understand your part; then you jump in with gusto.
You know your own mind, even now. You--more than your brothers--won't do something unless you've decided to do it. You didn't walk until a year and a half because it hadn't yet been your idea. But on the day you made up your mind, you were proficient by suppertime. It was the same with potty training, reading, and so many other milestones. Once you've set your mind to it, and not a second before, you jump in with both feet and completely master the thing.
You have a sweetness, a charm, that will open so many doors for you. Your smile lights up a room and draws people to you, and the kind actions that accompany it will win you many friends in many places. I'll never forget the day, when you were all of about eighteen months old, when I was scrubbing our kitchen floor on my hands and knees. You came up behind me, rubbed my back with your little toddler hand, and whispered, "Sweet, sweet Mama." The memory has come to mind often as I've watched you in your sweet interactions with others since. At the same time, you are far from a social butterfly. Your list of real friends is small, and you hold them close. You are loyal and very much devoted to your inner circle of friends, and I hope you always have a core of good friends to lean on.
We used to call you "whirly twirly." Actually, your Daddy called you that. You were sing-songey, sweet, and danced your way through the days before you could even walk. You still have a musicality and a fairy quality that makes us smile. But underlying all of that is strength that I don't think you've recognized yet. Some of it has to do with being the youngest with two big brothers. You've had to learn how to throw a punch, play football, and keep up with your brothers' antics from the first. It's given you grit and a certain amount of determination. But some of it is you. The same stubborn streak that has at times gotten you in trouble, the same reluctance to do things until you're ready, will also give you strength of mind and character in your grown-up years. You won't budge unless you believe the action is right. You won't keep quiet if you feel there's been injustice. You won't hesitate to step up and be a leader when one is needed, but you will lead from a place of kindness, compassion, and absolute strength of mind and character.
Cora, at seven it's impossible to predict what you will be--who you will be--in the years to come. But as we watch your personality unfold layer by layer, each year only confirms how beautiful you are inside and out. I can't wait to watch each new layer reveal more year by year. You will be shaped by life, by circumstances, by pain, and by joy. But I hope you always retain these pillars of your personality, these centers of strength. They've made you who you are at seven, and they will open many doors for you at thirty-seven. You are a force to be reckoned with, sweet girl, and I couldn't be prouder to stand behind you.
