Bring a pillow (and Blankie, too)

Dear Kyla,1

Today is a very special day for you!  Your first day of Kindergarten is an exciting time.  I know you can’t read all these big words, yet, so I’m addressing this to Mommy so she can read it to you.  I want you to remember what I tell you; if I had known these things, then maybe I, or you, or we would be different.2

Little do you know, but this day is marks a new stage of your life.  It hurts me to burden you with this knowledge.  I want you to enjoy this day, and tomorrow, and all the days that follow, but you really should know that over the next 13 years, you will work harder than you ever could have imagined you could.  3

Should you be shown what you will become?  It is a monstrous thing that may hide under your bed and blow nightmares into your dreams.  I know you don’t yet understand, so I want to tell you about the person you are now, and who you will come to be.  4

You are the happiest little child I have ever seen.  With your unruly flaxen hair, great big dark eyes, wide smile, and incredibly articulate level of speech, I find it difficult to believe that one day you will be a young woman, but one with brown hair (straightened in conformity), a forced smile (that never sparkles in your eyes), and an inability to express your feelings in spoken words.  5

You know Rick?  Your best friend’s daddy?  I learned a few weeks ago that when I was little, Rick used to hold long discussions with me, that is, he holds long discussions with you, since you have insight and speech abilities beyond your years.  Even now, Rick stops me and asks me what is happening in my life.  The difference is that I no longer know what to say.  6

What happened?  Where did I go wrong?  At what point will you transform yourself from a normal child of the playground to a prisoner of the book and studies? 7

Kyla, this is the way I see it.  Until third grade, I was just like everyone else.  I held tea parties in the dirt, pretended to be a unicorn, and played princesses.  I was no more intelligent than any other child.  But that changed when I was eight.  My teacher did not understand me; I learned nothing that year.  Mommy says that that is the year when I stopped smiling.8

In fourth grade I was pretty far behind.  I was also very shy.  I spoke very quietly all the time.  But I caught up, and my fourth grade teacher instilled in me a work ethic.  I don’t know whether to curse her or kiss her!9

You see, this helpful skill became an obsession.  As the years passed, schoolwork became more and more important.  That is when the social skills went.  I was with the “in” crowd in sixth and seventh grade.  But as junior high progressed, something happened.  I lost my firm grip on reality, and I have never been able to harness it again.  10

I lived in a fantasy land.  I still do.  I began writing on and off.  Writing now threatens to envelop my life.  Homework became my primary concern; I still can’t sleep if I haven’t finished.  I distanced myself from all other forms of life – this saddens me the most – so I have few close friends.  Make that none.  11

I don’t want you to feel sad.  I just want you to know that now, writing this letter to you from high school, I wonder what you can do to change this fate.  What can you do to avoid losing the ability to let people come close to you?  How can you keep your head out of the alluring clouds of fantasy that drench you in rain when they have you firmly ensnared?  Is it too late to form your priorities?  Because I believe you still have time, if you want.  You don’t have to lose your innocent joy.  You don’t have to bury yourself in learning and forsake close friendship.  You can be the social butterfly I have always dreamed of being!12

But do I want you to?  I love where I am.  I hate where I am.  Dammit, I can’t escape where I am, and despite all misery, I don’t want to.  I take solace in writing, singing, and other art.  I have a brighter future than anyone I know, career-wise, that is.  I have some friends, and although they don’t really understand me, I do have fun with them - when they honor me by inviting me to join them, that is.  I am worn out from Advanced Placement and Honors classes, running and soccer, community service clubs, dance (which just depresses me), work, and choir, but my days are generally enjoyable.  It’s true, sometimes I cry myself to sleep.   But I have so deadened myself to the real world that I no longer feel pain or remorse for very long.  13

I guess that’s why I’m not urging you to get out while you can.  I’m too removed from the pathetic nature of my existence to care about anything for very long.  Even my disappointment over my repeated failure as an artist of any type rarely lasts long.  I’m too numb to notice.  But I don’t mind.  After all, I feel no regret.  I’ve always thought that regret is a wasted emotion, and now that I am writing this to you, I am reminded of that.  I cannot expect a five-year-old to accept the responsibility of patching up my pathetic quilt of a life, made of scraps and tatters of dreams (my own and otherwise), and sewn together by sheer determination and an obstinate refusal to let the other guy win.14

So I guess all I want to say to you is this.  Buckle up, girl, and bring a pillow for your butt.  You’re going to need it when going over all the bumps on the road of life.15

Best of luck in Kindergarten.16

Love,17

Your future self18

P.S.  Don't forget Blankie.  You'll find that she's the best medicine for a broken heart.  And when Blankie I "dies", don't worry.  You will love Blankie II just as much and more.19