My Wildflower

( p.s. None of us are really adults, you know.
We are all just pretending we like the order and strain
the rest of the world deems so important.)

-sara sophia, tout-est-des-roses

I like coloring books. I like to draw pretty pictures and paint them in with watercolors. I keep my eyes open for fairies because who's to say they aren't real and I have gnomes in my garden beds. I like witty British comedies and Rockwell makes me smile. This is me. This is me as adult.

My daughter likes coloring books. She likes to draw pretty pictures and paint them in with watercolors. She might just be a fairy. She likes Tom and Jerry and Degas makes her want to dance. This is my daughter. This is her as child.

We share a similar spirit. But where I am strong, she seems fragile to me. And where she is free, I feel restrained.

She is frustrated by life's boxes. She doesn't fit into the system that she's been thrown into. They see her scattered and disorganized and behind. She feels their glares heavy. I cry for this little one of mine. My fairy child with freckled face and hidden wings that give her flight. I want to build her a world of fancy so that she can soar. Right now she feels stapled to the ground. I fear her spirit will die held down so low.

My mind is filled with thoughts and ideas of how to free her. Should I remove her from the school that is stifling her? Or should I let her tough it out? Should I protect the fragility of her young spirit? Or am I supposed to leave her to learn how to thrive in this world? And what if I choose wrong and that beautiful, creative soul is lost in the testing? Why is this so hard?

I like wildflowers. They are strong, beautiful, and independent of restraint. I want her to be a wildflower.

Maybe the answer is in helping each other. I will help her to be strong. And she will help me to break free.

And our world of fancy can exist within these four walls if only when we look into each other's eyes.