“Love your spirited child for who she is. Because she is more, she will make you more.”-Mary Sheedy Kurcinka
Spirited child that couldn’t be tamed.
At the age of four danced naked in front of the mirror. Her only adornment French braids.
Dressed in pink suede boots, she stomped in mud puddles.
Girl that I birthed, cried out in the night till she was 15 months old. In the darkness, I often long to hear her wailing for me.
Spirited child I birthed is now a woman. More like me than not.
No more pink boots, yet she still stomps to the beat of her own drummer.
Her dad says she gets her obstinance from me.
Perhaps, she does indeed.
100 words/Genre: memoir
Thank you Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for hosting Friday Fictioneers. It tickles me to death to write with such a great group of writers. Please be sure to go to her page and read their stories too. We are a rather eclectic group and the genres run the gamut.
I welcome kudos and criticism. Happy reading!
