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davidjameslynch

a little girl

Updated: Nov 26, 2023

(Original Post - September 2012)


A little girl. Only about five minutes old, and she’s holding my index finger.


She doesn’t want to let go.


Ten pounds, four ounces of pure magic that transformed me the second they put her in my arms. I remember the moment she first opened her eyes, the way she smelled, the sound of her first cry, and watching for hours as she slept soundly. I remember the nurses marveling at her size, passing her around amongst themselves as they smiled and sang to her. I also remember the comment that at least three of them made on that first day, a comment that caused me to smile proudly at the time, but now makes me sit back and ponder the passage of time.


The comment: “Just look at the size of her! Sure, she came out all ready for school!”

Five years have passed. Five years during which the smell of her bassinette has never faded. And here she is. A little girl… ready for school.


This year marks the 30th anniversary of my introduction to the wild, wonderful world of education. For 30 years, I have been immersed in this field, as a student, a teacher, administrator and counsellor. It’s a world that’s been good to me; it’s helped me grow, challenged my ideas, inspired my efforts, taught me perseverance, and given me the opportunity to give back on a daily basis.


I’ve seen the joy of a five year old graduating from kindergarten, and the incredible sense of achievement and paralyzing uncertainty of a seventeen year old finishing up high school. I’ve seen the heartbreak of broken friendships, the creation of new ones, and the pain and confusion of conflict and rejection. I’ve seen love in all its forms, stresses that no child should have to endure, and resiliency that served as an inspiration in my own life. I’ve seen hardship and hard work, generosity and genius, accomplishment and agony.


And I realized that this is the world into which I’ll send my little girl.

This will not be one of those ‘letter from a father to a daughter as she embarks on the great journey of life’ kind of posts. I’m not knocking those letters; they’re often full of wisdom and advice that rings true, ranging from practical to profound. But the way I see it, every day is a blank page that offers us the opportunity to write this perpetual letter to our kids. Our actions, our efforts, essentially, are the ink.


The whole premise of this blog has been to share and comment on the incredible capacity of kids to teach us myriad lessons about the world we live in. In keeping with this approach, I don’t want to talk about what I hope the world will teach my daughter as she enters school. I want to talk about what I hope my daughter will teach the world.

I want her to teach the world that empathy is essential, and is one of the greatest characteristics a person can possess. I’ve watched Norah sit on a step and cry, tears streaming down her little face as she put a hand to her mouth to try and stop her quivering lip. The cause of these tears? James, running wild through the living room, fell and busted his bottom lip. She feels his pain. She feels his frustration when he can’t complete a task. She feels his sadness when his favorite toy gets broken. She feels what he feels.


I want her to teach the world that, as a female, there is nothing that is beyond her ability to achieve. We were talking about the moon a few weeks ago, and I asked her if she knew that people had actually walked on the moon. She was instantly intrigued, so I went to YouTube and brought up a video of the 1969 moon landing, and Neil Armstrong’s first steps. She watched for several minutes, eyes narrowed, and I knew there was a question brewing. I expected the question to be gravity related, figuring she’d be confused by the way Neil bounced lightly along the surface. But that wasn’t the question. Eyes narrowed even further, she pointed to a shot of NASA’s mission control in Houston, and turned to me, stating, “It’s all boys. How come there are no girls in that place?”


I want her to teach the world that appreciating the little things, every single day, is necessary. I was having a coffee at the kitchen table earlier this summer, looking out the patio door as rain pelted against the house. I was making a mental list of all the things that would not and could not get done because of the miserable weather. Having just woken up, Norah comes downstairs and walks into the kitchen, still rubbing her eyes. I turn to her and smile. “Looks like we’re not going for a ride in the wagon today, Goose” (incidentally, I want her to teach the world that foolish nicknames are cool, too). She looks past me, and runs to the patio door. Her smile is huge. She puts her hands on her hips, looks up to the sky and says, “Thanks rain, for washing all that bird poop off our patio door!” She turns to me, the smile growing even wider as she sees the box of cereal I’m holding. “Lucky Charms! This day is awesome!” Steven Covey, author of The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, once said that the elements outside shouldn’t matter. “We need to carry our own weather,” he said, “within ourselves.” Norah, I’m sure, would agree.


I want her to teach the world it’s cool to want to know everything you possibly can. Even as an adult, I can’t stand not knowing something. I recall driving down the Burin Peninsula highway years ago, and my wife asking me what was on my mind. (I think I possess the same furrowed brow that Norah displays when there’s something on my mind). Looking at the landscape, I told her that I didn’t really fully understand the physics behind the movement of glaciers. If memory serves, she rolled her eyes. Going out to supper a few weeks ago, Norah knew that my cousin’s baby would be there. She didn’t fully grasp how the baby was part of our family, and so asked, “What does ‘family’ really mean?” I began to talk about how family members are related, and she cut me off with, “What does ‘relative’ really mean?” I stopped, thought a minute, and said, “Okay, let me give you an example.” “Okay,” she responds, “but why do we call examples ‘examples’.” I hope she never stops asking questions, and I hope she shows the world that her knowledge is power.


It’s becoming obvious that a small book could be written in the place of this post. There are a million things that I want her to teach the world, want her to share with the world, and want her to experience. I think the aforementioned examples, however, cover the ‘big ideas’. A propensity for love and empathy, a need to see equality among all, a willingness to find the silver lining in every situation, and a desire to never, ever stop learning. It’s not necessarily the job of myself or the education system to instill these values in my little girl – it’s our job to ensure that these values are allowed to flourish and spread. We need to show her, through our own actions, that such ideas are admirable, important, and in today’s society, very, very necessary.


The larger world is hers now. She’s moved into it with more enthusiasm than I could have ever hoped for. But I can’t say that it doesn’t occasionally overwhelm me when I think about it.

It’s a big world, and she’s a little girl.


Only about five years old, and I’m holding her hand.


I don’t want to let go.


Just a thought – Tell a kid one of the reasons you’re proud of them. Norah came over to me as I was writing this, and asked what I was typing. I told her that I was writing about how cool it is that she always wants to learn more stuff. She lit up. Then she gave me a high five.


“Parents rarely let go of their children, so children let go of them. They move on. They move away. The moments that used to define them - a mother's approval, a father's nod - are covered by moments of their own accomplishments. It is not until much later, as the skin sags and the heart weakens, that children understand; their stories, and all their accomplishments, sit atop the stories of their mothers and fathers, stones upon stones, beneath the waters of their lives.” - Mitch Albom

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