A wonderful little ditty from Ms. Tina Fey made its way around the blogosphere the other day. A Mother’s Prayer is her letter (of sorts) to God, and her hopes for her daughter’s future. This includes her desire for no tattoos and a stable life that falls somewhere in between the glamour and grime of acting and the tediousness of finance. I read it and laughed, thinking about how I can relate. I have two daughters. I am already fearful of the life that swirls around them—the dangers that taunt and threaten (sexual predators! lice! purple hair!)—and I am deathly afraid of the minds beneath the curly hair that will rip through my sweet young children at age thirteen and blow my friggin head off.
When it comes time for the various talks, what will I say? Don’t get a tattoo. Or: don’t stop in Placerville on your way home from Tahoe and sit in a Burger King for an hour before deciding to get a tattoo of a shark on your ankle. Why a shark? Because dolphins are too girly.
Don’t be too girly.
Drinking is bad. But then will I have to keep up the rouse that I’m drinking spicy wine because Jocelyn doesn’t like anything that tastes spicy?
Don’t have sex.
Damn. I suck at this “don’t do this” game.
And then I was watching Dancing with the Stars the other night. The dancers were celebrating America with their music and style. If you can call it style. I call it, When Patriotism Goes Bad.
What do you get if Patriotism is taken so far to the edge—with fringe, cleavage covered stars and stripes, and peek-a-boo cootch—that it becomes something else?
This is what I can teach my girls.
Don’t be a hoe.