Transcript: "If
I should have a daughter, instead of “Mom,” she’s gonna call me “Point B,”
because that way she knows that no matter what happens, at least she can always
find her way to me. And I’m going to paint solar systems on the backs of her
hands so she has to learn the entire universe before she can say, “Oh, I know
that like the back of my hand.”
And
she’s going to learn that this life will hit you hard in the face, wait for you
to get back up just so it can kick you in the stomach. But getting the wind
knocked out of you is the only way to remind your lungs how much they like the
taste of air. There is no hurt here that cannot be fixed by Band-Aids or poetry.
So the first time she realizes that Wonder Woman isn’t coming, I’ll make sure
she knows she doesn’t have to wear the cape all by herself because no matter
how wide you stretch your fingers, your hands will always be too small to catch
all the pain you want to heal. Believe me, I’ve tried. “And, baby,” I’ll tell
her, don’t keep your nose up in the air like that. I know that trick; I’ve done
it a million times.
You’re
just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house, so
you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save
him. Or else find the boy who lit the fire in the first place, to see if you
can change him.” But I know she will anyway, so instead I’ll always keep an
extra supply of chocolate and rain boots nearby, because there is no heartbreak
that chocolate can’t fix. Okay, there’s a few heartbreaks that chocolate can’t
fix. But that’s what the rain boots are for, because rain will wash away
everything, if you let it. I want her to look at the world through the
underside of a glass-bottom boat, to look through a microscope at the galaxies
that exist on the pinpoint of a human mind, because that’s the way my mom
taught me.
That
there’ll be days like this. “There’ll be days like this, my momma said.”
When
you open your hands to catch and wind up with only blisters and bruises; when
you step out of the phone booth and try to fly and the very people you want to
save are the ones standing on your cape; when your boots will fill with rain,
and you’ll be up to your knees in disappointment. And those are the very days
you have all the more reason to say thank you. Because there’s nothing more
beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no
matter how many times it’s sent away. You will put the wind in winsome, lose
some. You will put the star in starting over, and over. And no matter how many
land mines erupt in a minute, be sure your mind lands on the beauty of this
funny place called life. And yes, on a scale from one to over-trusting, I am
pretty damn naive. But I want her to know that this world is made out of sugar.
It can crumble so easily, but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and
taste it. “Baby,” I’ll tell her, “remember, your momma is a worrier, and your
poppa is a warrior, and you are the girl with small hands and big eyes who
never stops asking for more.” Remember that good things come in threes and so
do bad things. And always apologize when you’ve done something wrong, but don’t
you ever apologize for the way your eyes refuse to stop shining. Your voice is
small, but don’t ever stop singing. And when they finally hand you heartache,
when they slip war and hatred under your door and offer you handouts on
street-corners of cynicism and defeat, you tell them that they really ought to
meet your mother."
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