Dear Future Maybe Daughter,
Right now I am going to tell you about a boy I somethinged. I use the word somethinged because I don't know exactly what we did. Dated? Maybe? Well, there you have it. Right now, I am going to tell you about the last boy I dated before I met your father.
I used to be afraid he would read All This, but now? There is no fear. Barely a passing thought as my fingers click clack across the keys.
We dated when I was roughly a year out of a very sudden and nearly tragic accident. Maybe you've heard the story about the time I was hit by an out-of-control van when I was stepping off the sidewalk? Maybe I've squeezed your hand super-incredibly tight while we are trick-or-treating or walking in the parking lot.
Forgive me. Some of it still stays, and I guarantee the craziness over such things is only because I love you to bits & pieces and don't want to see you hurt.
I was about 8 months or so out of therapy for PTSD. We ventured to a baseball game, this boy and I.
Even though I had made a full recovery, my nerves were shot. I had the reflexes of a blind cat. Everything made me jump. Needless to say, the crowded city on a game night was quite a stretch for me at the time.
I remember he bought me a bottle of water. It may as well have been a diamond. Swoon. Swoon.
In the midst of all this, my shoe broke right down the middle. Which is probably why I never let you buy flip flops from Target. For that, my love, I will not apologize. A good pair of flops is hard to come by, and in my experience, you are barking up the wrong tree at Target. Old Navy. Please.
Do these stores even still exist? Or have the aliens taken over? Please say yes and then no.
He fiddled with my shoe for a second, and then shook his head. Frustrated. He handed it back with a simple, “I can't get it.”
So. I limped. I came out of that winter still feeling Rather Crumbly and Broken. This just confirmed my crumbly brokenness.
Oh the limping.
I hobbled down Main Street. Past the gentleman selling t-shirts. Over the bridge that crosses the highway. And all I could think about during that game was the fact that I would have to limp all the way home...or at least it felt like it.
With that being said...
Sweet Child o' mine. It is my honest hope that you marry a problem-solver.
Your father is one of the most resourceful men I know. Along with my father, both of my grandfathers, and your Uncle Dan.
I know, with all my heart that your father would have found a way to fix that shoe. Some duct tape. A paper clip. Something.
And he also would have sprung for peanuts.
Love and please choose wisely,