To my sweet baby girl,
The air stirred and swirled with electric currents as you came flying into the house. You were on fire. Angry flames danced around you as you began telling me the story of the transexual homecoming princess and the girls on the bus who wouldn't stop talking about her. They were gossipy and mean-spirited, you said. Their words didn't sit well with you, so you told them to knock it off. Curiosity and asking questions, when you don't understand someone else, is one thing, you said, talking about someone behind their back is another. Not caring that the person who was being talked about wasn't there to defend themselves, and knowing the comments spoken were never going to be said in front of the transexual homecoming princess, was your undoing. So your words reverberated through the bus, as I can only imagine your words doing. Your voice isn't quiet, or mellow. Your voice booms, in the best way possible.
We talked some more and as you turned to leave, lyrics began playing through my head. Miranda Lambert's raspy vocals started swirling from her song Mama's Broken Heart...
"Get a grip and bite your lip, just to save a little face. Cross your legs. Dot your i's and never let 'em see you cry."
"Powder your nose. Paint your toes. Line your lips and keep them closed."
"Run and hide your crazy and start acting like a lady. Cause I raised you better gotta keep it together even when you fall apart..."
I'm so glad none of this applies to you. I did raise you to be a lady, but not like this. I know you won't ever bite your lip just to save a little face, nor will you line your lips and keep them closed. But most of all I hope you never hide your crazy. The kind of lady I want you to be has you doing exactly what you did. Your kind of lady has you keeping it together, even when others let things fall apart. So go on and flaunt your crazy...in your best way possible!