To THAT Emily

To THAT Emily

You still have problems being polite
Civil
Soft spoken
When those around you refuse to be
Climbing up your pedestal
Tossing indecencies
And you still have issues with the clowns and the puppets
Hands so far up their bums that they don’t even know it
And you’re still frustrated when you care so deeply about something
Some one
Some place
That it seeps into your soul, your being

That it seeps into your tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwich at lunch
That it seeps into the bedtime stories you tell to the children you adopted because love is not limited by genetic code

And you seem to be the only person affected, the only person overcome with passion for something
Some one
Some place

And you don’t know how to explain the word slut to your daughter
Because in your mind, it’s not a bad word

But how to you explain consent and empowered females to a nine year old who heard the word yelled at a girl on the bus who just wanted her boyfriend to love her more than possible?

How do you explain words like condoms and virgin when she still calls you Mommy and Saturdays are still for cartoons?

How do you tell her that you will always love her, no matter what she decides to do or not to do with a boy, that in your eyes, she’s already got a ticket to the heaven you are dubious about because no God could deny that face?

How do you tell her that you love her more than any little boy with a flower pinned to his suit and braces on his teeth ever could?

And you still have problems being a grown up
When every year, you dream of San Diego
When Barnes and Noble trips don’t always end in the Oprah book club purchase
When you splurge and buy Batman comics
Because that’s the one love you couldn’t let die even in the age of carpools and business meetings

And your hair is probably blonde now, because it takes too much time to go to the store
Buy the box of red dye, the one with the lady on it who seems, as dad would say, too cool for school
And lather into your hair that night
Time that could be spent helping with homework
Writing a proposal to prove a point, your point
Planning a trip to where Dad grew up, so that the kids know that there is more to Colombia than drugs and violence
I’m sure it looks good blonde

And whether married or single or divorced
You still have problems believing any person in existence can love you like you love the feeling you get when you open up a new book and there’s a world of possibilities underneath every finger, begging you to turn the page, to keep reading, to continue forward because you just HAVE to know why a little boy boy with a scar on his head lives under the stairs.

You still have problems with happily ever after and Disney Princesses eager to get boyfriends and sparkly dresses.

And I just want you to know, you still having problems is the greatest accomplishment of all. You still struggle to improve, to exist in a greater capacity. You are still Not Content Capital N Capital C with the word outside your door, your window, because you still don’t like the way Colombian characters are treated on television, because you still don’t like women being shoved into fridges, because you are still uncomfortable, still eager for change.

And I love you, future Emily, because you are one badass woman, I know it. You still want to be better, never complacent, never done, never finished with a word search because one word jumped out to you and you just HAVE to write it down, turning it into a poem, a rant, a song you won’t sing because you are such a terrible singer, your shower head wants it’s money back.

Don’t stop having problems because once slavery was abolished, Harriet Tubman became a suffragette because there was still work to be done, girl. The problems you face and overcome are the the things that make you strong, and if you ever forget that, sit your daughter down and watch some Buffy the Vampire Slayer. You’re still fighting your big bads.