Hilary Moon Murphy

Dear Cassie (An Open Letter)

The January Web Rat Name Your Own Dare! (700 Words a Day on Fire of Genius) Pre-Dare Dare Total Today 14,498 3719 259 Other Dare Participants: Anne | Jennifer | Jim | Karina | Marti | Rob | Sam | Trey

Dear Cassie,

I'm writing this as an open letter, knowing that someday you will be able to read it.

Yesterday, neither you nor I had a very good day. You clung to me like a barnacle to a ship, wailing every time that I needed to put you down. I became evil mommy when I refused to bring you a toy that was within your reach, or when I insisted that you could travel across the room without my help.

You howled. I listened. I knew that if I just brought the toy to you, or carried you across the room, we both would have had a more restful evening. So why didn't I?

Your Daddy and I are trying to raise you to have confidence in yourself. We baby-proofed both floors of our house so that you could explore every room freely. We have started encouraging you to make your own choices - you get to pick the books we read to you each night, and what toys go to sleep with you. And we've started having you help us clean up your toys, even though we could do it faster by ourselves.

We do this because we believe that after love, there is no greater gift a parent can give a child than the gift of competence. It is a gift that I wish that my parents could have given me.

Ann, the woman who raised me, was my Father's long term companion. Her friends told her that she was overprotective of me. But "overprotective" does not adequately describe the way Ann treated me, alternating between rage and cloying possessiveness.

When I was sixteen I told Ann that I didn't want her reading my letters anymore. She got so angry that she beat me with a hanger. My legs hurt so much that I could not walk for two days. As a punishment, my parents kept me locked in my room for two weeks with no phone, no television, no radio and no conversation. I dreamed every day of freedom.

My parents believed that they were sheltering me, the way a gardener might shelter a fragile hothouse flower. But what they were really doing was keeping a plant that should have grown outdoors in a pot that was too small for it, and without enough sunlight to grow.

When I went to college, I was a kid who never had done laundry, never balanced a checkbook, never cooked, never ridden a bus and never driven so much as a bicycle. I didn't know how to interact with people very well. To continue the plant analogy, my root system was too stunted for me to support much in the way of stable growth.

I hope you never find out what it is like to be an incompetent neurotic adult. I had to swallow my humiliation and ask classmates for help, taking notes on such esoterica as the "rinse" and "spin" cycles of the washing machine. But I learned.

I can drive a stick shift and change my own oil. Given flour, water and a warm day, I can generate a sourdough starter from scratch, and bake the bread afterwards. My financial planning skills are good enough that friends seek my advice on what stocks to select for their 401Ks. Some might say I'm overcompensating.

They're right. I am.

When I envision you as an adult, I see you as a strong woman, one who knows that she can achieve the goals that she sets for herself. I try to remember that you are now one year old, and in need of Mommy's reassurance. Cassie, I love you.

Only you can choose how you want to grow. I just hope that you don't choose the small pot when you can have the whole garden to explore.

Mom

Ganpati-Baba reminds me that I haven't profiled any Darers in this entry. Fellow Web Rat Benjamin Rosenbaum is not officially part of this Dare, but he has set himself an ambitious mini-dare for this week only. He is going to type 2000 words a day with arm while holding his newborn daughter with the other.

He's insane, but you have to admire his gumption. Check out his site for baby pictures and his own funky art. Or send him an e-mail and congratulate him on his second pro sale.

Sigh... I will not be jealous. I will not be jealous. It's not working.

Hmm