Child, all of your talking is taking too much, where did you get all your why’s and your what’s? Questioning everything, wondering why, why can’t you get things, I’m wondering why. All your ideas are dangerous dreams, you say such concepts, the craziest things. Someone will realize that you aren’t alright. You are not normal, this cannot be right. Good little girls do not speak with such spice, good little girls do not trigger such ice, in all they encounter, they look at me strangely. They say she’s to wild to be a true lady.

Child, all of your moving is moving too quick, the trees that you climb, the weeds that you pick, running outside like the spirit of spring, why must you leap like uncivilized things? Why must you come home unruly and torn, and not even care when your new shoes are worn? Why don’t you like pretty things like white lace, you’d be such a doll if you’d just clean your face. Shrieking and running with boys all among, I’ve heard what they’re saying, I’ve done something wrong. The good little girls, they all sit still and smile, but mine is the strange one, the worrisome child.

Child, all of your hair is too wild and curled, you will not comb it like good little girls. Hanging in front of your eyes every day, why don’t you fix it and tuck it away? Shaking it wild like the homeland it’s from, motherland freedoms, they won’t be succumbed. Why don’t you care when you roll in the grass - bugs, dirt, and wild plants all get attached. The crazy thing is, if I chopped it all off, you wouldn’t care, it won’t matter enough. You are not delicate, you are not vain, you could be pretty but like to be plain. I’m so confused, you’re the first girl I’ve had, I’m starting to think as a mother I’m bad.

Oh child, I have a cousin, and several friends too, they all say their daughters were ALL just like you. They ran and they played and they messed up their hair, they couldn’t sit still just to sit in a chair. They say that you’re young and it’s only a phase, in a year or two you will grow out of this age. Their daughters all learned how to stifle their thoughts, to be neat and prim, not to run and throw rocks. They’re such young ladies now, respectable girls, who once were like you until tamed by this world. Now that I know that you’ll turn just the same, that there’s little time left until you are tame, it is much easier sleeping at night - imagine if girls never learned to act right.