A Birthday Letter

Dearest Lily, 

I have started and stopped this letter to you so many times. I have changed directions, collected quotes, and reflected on what I want to say to you. Frankly, my love, this year hasn't been the easiest - with the global pandemic and all. It has been hard and messy with plenty of ugly tears and fraught with many worries, changing routines, and heaps of unknowns. But, through this, I have seen a beautiful growth from you; newfound confidence and an inner (and outer!) beauty that I marvel at. 

At nine years old you are constantly practicing your pirouettes and assemblé and flap shuffle steps. You pretty much exclusively speak in Pig Latin and are constantly reading (graphic novels always). You have taken to looking up DIY YouTube glitter crafts and are endlessly asking me to quiz you on your multiplication and division tables. You love history and science and detest spelling words and dread anytime you have to run laps for PE. Oh, and you can rap Hamilton's My Shot perfectly. You are curious, imaginative, and delightfully weird. 

When I was a child, my father's mother lived with us. We called her Tabby. She wasn't the type of grandmother who baked or cooked. She wasn't particularly funny or overly warm, but she loved chocolate and reading and was always willing to sit and share both with me. She had this Hans Christian Anderson's fairy tale collection that was from her childhood. While we read plenty of classic 80's picture books, like Bernenstein Bears and Corduroy, what I remember most is reading from this fairy tale collection with her: The Little Match Girl. The Ugly Duckling. Thumbelina. The Princess and the Pea. 

I loved these stories. They are magical. They are predictable, yet whimsical. Good often wins, but bad things still happen. These stories are timeless for a reason, they lay the tracks for life's lesson. They provide entertainment, but through understanding them we can learn a lot about the human condition. When you were a baby, I would tell you these stories over and over again. We'd sit at the park with our picnic lunch, and I would tell the story of the beautiful, tiny girl - no bigger than a thumb - who falls in love with a flower-fairy prince. Or I'd recount the story of the young mermaid princess who loves a human prince and bargains her fish-tail for a pair of legs with the evil Sea Witch, sacrificing her voice. She dies brokenhearted and her spirit floats into the air, eternally bringing cooling breezes to the hot, dry days. 

Many of Anderson's fairy tales go against the grain of the more traditional folk tales, choosing to show that sometimes darkness wins. I know this seems a bit morbid, but Anderson wanted to explore the injustice of the world. This is why the match girl freezes to death, the tin soldier gets melted, the mermaid's body dissolves into foam. Anderson's stories imply that only through fighting the darkness; then we feel light and joy, even if we don't always win in the end. 

Of all the stories in my grandmother's book, the one I remember so vividly reading over and over would be The Ugly Duckling. This is one of my favorites - I mean, it doesn't hurt that the hero is a SWAN. Most people look at this story and think it is about someone who just wants to fit in. A story of someone who looks and acts different, so everyone makes fun of them. But, really this is a story of transformation or rebirth. Written by a man caught between two worlds, revealing valuable insight for a world just recovering from a global pandemic: A world transformed by a virus. 

Shortly after your birthday, after 334 days at home, we rode our bikes down to your elementary school and I watched you walk through the black wrought-iron gates, past the local TV news cameras, with your two long braids and donning a blue tie-dye face mask and a nervous, confident energy crackling around you. I could see the smile in your eyes along with the tears about to well over. I saw at once an innocent and carefree little girl, diving with both feet into the post-pandemic reality with newfound strength and authenticity. 

I guess what I am trying to say is that this year has been transformational for you. I've seen you grapple with big ideas. I've watched you put together tactics to help tame anxiety. I've seen you push your independence. I've observed you adapting to a changing tribe of friends. And while it hasn't been perfect, I see you more wholly than I have before: divinely and uniquely created. 

My beautiful bumblebee, you are so very loved, more than all the stars in the sky and all the waters in the ocean. 

Love, 

Mom