Today, I was much touched by
the joy I found in talking, laughing,
sharing, visiting with my daughter.
Harking back to when I was a young
mother, I still remember those same
sweet moments. Obviously, there
were differences, but . . .
She was a storyteller even when
she was still lisping. She would
bring me her tales out of school
and I remember being amazed
at her command of vocabulary,
imagination and emotion.
She would explain to me in her
sweet, little girl voice that she
was telling a story built around
a given incident and that she
knew the difference between
the inspiration and the story
itself.
Part of me felt bad that she
needed to give said preamble.
Me thinks 'twas the price of
making certain she understood
the concept of embellishment.
Watching as she entered school,
learned to read and continuously
increased her vocabulary . . .
and then in learning English,
those skills continued in place.
As a Lang Arts teacher, I doubly
value her gifts and the joy she
has brought me over the years . . .
one in a million
living her own narrative
brings joy to my soul
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