My Little Girl

If God had given me a little girl, her hair would have been red with a soft curl. She would have been tall and lean like her mother and laid-back but determined like her father. And overprotected by her brothers.

She would have had an American Girl doll and Tonka trucks. She'd have worn ribbons and party dresses on Christmas and Easter and cut-off jeans with hand-me-down tee shirts all summer.

At five I would have given her Mandy, and at 8 my china doll. When she turned 13 she'd have gotten my diamond necklace, and someday (if she wanted) my wedding dress.

She would have learned to prepare a meal and keep a house - how to drive a stick and change the oil. She'd know how to wear make-up so it didn't look like she was wearing any, and how to use a smile to her advantage. She'd have also learned how to shoot a shotgun, and know when someone was trying to take advantage of her.

She'd have learned the joy of a very-best friend and how to love a man without losing herself. She'd have had her first kiss on the playground, but know how and why to wait for her God-given true love.

She'd have been a joy and a treasure, a frustration and a mystery. She'd have been my little girl.