Skip to main content

I see a little bitty gull.

'Tis a fascinating thing to watch a daughter grow. A New Kind of beauty. Graceful. High strung. Pillow fluffing. A tiny woman. She's fantastically amazing.

My understanding of her is innate and easy after struggling for ages to understand a house full of little boys. I always made it harder than it should've been and my heart was too soft. I don't know what it is to be a man - I only know to love them. A woman needs a different sort of strength which I instinctively will into my daughter even while secretly admiring the way she wields her femininity. She instinctively manages all the men in her life, bending them to her will. She's lovely, true. But, more so, the magic of her femininity is raw guilelessness.

I lost touch with mine until I met her. So I watch and learn. Relunctantly, I step in to save her from herself. These moments jog my memory and I remember why I gave up that power.


  1. This is a beautiful piece of writing and I can really relate. I am learning so much from my daughter every day. Have a wonderful Easter break with your family x

  2. Thank you, Sarah. Wonderful to meet you.

  3. You have a lovely way with words. I can relate to every word of that. I too am raising a little girl in a house of boys.It is unblievable at 17 months how she has everyone of her four big brothers wrapped around her little finger.

  4. Thank you for your sweet words!
    I love thinking about YOUR little bitty gull running show. I bet she is one sassy number!

  5. This is a lovely piece. I've always imagined myself with boys, don't know what I'll do if I have a girl.

  6. I felt the same way. I had 3 little boys and was a little afraid when I found out I was having a daughter. Didn't feel up to the task.

  7. What a fabulous piece. I was just reflecting on this sentiment today (although not as eloquently I must say!). Thanks for Rewinding this Weekend x


Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Just get out the way, and let the gentleman do his thing.

Retired Memphis Police Department Chief Inspector Robert Jones came to my pool party the other day. Over hot dogs and fruit salad, he regaled his grandchildren with tales of his days in Special Services on the police force. That's SWAT to you and me.

Among those anecdotes, he spins a yarn that includes a tear gas capsule hidden on the motor of a car full of pimps and ladies of the night, effectively expelling these law breakers out of a Buick Electra 225, running crazy. Later, he would be appointed Chief Inspector, along with fellow officer James Bolden (who also served MPD director), climbing his way up the career ladder with an excellent work ethic. But, before all that, he was a regular joe on the beat, paying his dues. Only, this fiery, young Irishman was going to do it his way.

They called him The Flame. Not only for his ability to run like one but, there was also that shiny red hair. In his youth, his stubborn independence got him into some trouble so he channeled that and mad…

There must be lights burning brighter somewhere.

"Something is happening in Memphis; something is happening in our world."~ Dr. Martin Luther King 
This feels different. This recent flurry of news stories and protests feels different. It's bigger and it's genuine and it's not blowing over any time soon. 
Memphis has racial diversity with a dark past. It just is what it is and continues to influence our present and, undoubtedly, our future. Even as I write this, I am concerned about offense or being misunderstood myself.
As a student of history, I've studied slavery, the holocaust, the civil rights movement and beyond. I definitely don't consider myself a racist, but with transparency, I will say that I, like many white people in Memphis, don't understand the perspective of the black community. I don't understand what they were shouting at the protest. I don't understand why the bridge was blocked for so long. If I'm being honest, I don't understand exactly what the end goal is and I don…

I was so scared to face my fears.

Why You even trust us with so much, I can't even imagine. We alternate between pumping triumphant fists in the air and rocking quietly in the corner, squeezy eyes and knitty brows, vulnerable to the next thing next. In a matter of weeks, issues that include extreme trauma, mental illness, genetic disorders, and tired, old grudges, which serve to poison the waters, pass through our hands. We stand, arm in arm, carefully considering whether we are meant to dodge or take the shots:What are we supposed to be to learning?
Can we set it gently to the side and move along?
Is this our burden to bear for a season?
Who is wearing hearts on sleeves?
and should we?It's hard to say in a world of emotions but I KNOW our hearts are true. Even in their ugliest states, we keep it real. Sometimes, we're all Daigle, inspired and fortified, but, as many times as not, we're blasting Adele, accidentally alienating the ones we love and raw as can be. Let's just keep the Gungors, Eminems …