She's fifteen. She's got all the usual frustrations and issues of a fifteen year old. Plus the challenges of fairly severe dyslexia. Plus adoption issues. Plus transracial issues. Plus a father who's been mortally ill since she's ten, whom she knows is racing the clock to live to see her graduate from high school. Plus all the pressures you might expect all of the above would place on mental and emotional health.
In other words, she has far more reasons to be the selfish, self-involved, self-pitying git I was at fifteen than I ever did.
And yet she's not.
For Christmas, on her own initiative,
Then she made these cards. Gorgeous pen-and-ink work, with light color accents. Nicer than what you can find in the store. They showcase her artistic talents, and most of them are germane to the gift given, and to the recipient. I'm talking real class here. And again, deeply thoughtful.
But where my daughter really brought it home was yesterday while we were having Christmas at my Dad and (step)Mom's place.
So, yeah, sometimes