New generation

I wish my daughter could sense the bond she will feel with women throughout history who have tried to stop war, prejudice and drunk driving. I hope she will understand why I can think rationally about most issues, but become temporarily insane when I discuss
the threat of nuclear war to my children's future.

I want my daughter to know that everyday decisions will no longer be routine. That a five-year-old boy's desire to go to the gents rather than the ladies at McDonald's will become a major dilemma. That, right there amidst the clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the faint possibility of a child molester lurking under the urinal.

I want to describe to my daughter the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or a cat for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real, it actually hurts.

'You'll never regret it,' I finally say.
Then I reach across the table, squeeze my daughter's hand and offer a silent prayer for her, for me, and for all of the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this calling.