for mothers of daughters, tina fey is one of us

“First, Lord:

No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth

nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her

tender haunches. May she be Beautiful but not

Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy

soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty. When the Crystal

Meth is offered, may she remember the parents who

cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer. Guide her,

protect her when crossing the street, stepping onto

oats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools,

walking near pools, standing on the subway platform,

crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall

restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on

country roads while arguing, leaning on large

windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, 

roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell 

Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock

 ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on

any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age. Lead

her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance.

Something where she can make her own hours but

still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside

sometimes And not have to wear high heels. What

would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf

course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d

be doing it, Youdammit. May she play the Drums to

the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy

strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With

Drummers. Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to

seventeen.Let her draw horses and be interested in

Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a

Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And

adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait. O

Lord, break the Internet forever, that she may be

spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the

online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls

Just Wanna Get Stabbed. And when she one day

turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister,

Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a

cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit

I will not have it. And should she choose to be a

Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her,

lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-

once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little

creature whose poop is leaking up its back. “My

mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she

cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this

for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her

as it does each generation and she will make a Mental

Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know,

because I peeped it with Your God eyes. 

Amen.” -Tina Fey

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