Photo Credit: Landov
Even though I loved that world. I needed to see what the rest of the world was made of and if my father was right. So I became a writer, fell in love with a fellow journeyer, married, and eventually moved to rural Montana where we had two children and have lived ever since. One of them is my almond daughter, now parading on the garden path of womanhood. She has a great head on her shoulders -- more than I did at her age. She still has that almond state of mind. She does things like cut her hair short because she's interested in just how much power long hair has when it comes to boys paying attention to you. Or not piercing her ears when all the other girls have. Or wearing braids and no make up to a school dance. Or researching Abercrombie before she decides to be its walking billboard. I am still proud of her.
So you can imagine my surprise this morning on the way to school when they were talking about Kate Middleton, the soon to be princess, on NPR, and I asked my daughter: "Would you ever want to marry a prince?" I expected overt rejection, disdain, ridicule -- things she is known to express.
"Of course!" she said, hungrily. "I'd love to be a princess."
I felt the need then to remind her how Princess Diana died. How she couldn't go to the grocery store, or the farmers' market, or to town with greasy hair, or do much of anything without having cameras in her face and the scrutiny of nations.
And with eyes as the windows-to-the-soul that they still are, my daughter said, "If I loved him and he loved me, then I don’t see how it's any different. Princess or no princess. People are the same everywhere when it comes to love." My father's message in my daughter, on a windy country road in Montana.
And there was nothing I could say to that. Princesses can be almonds and vice versa. And mothers can learn from their daughters.