Something they’ve had since they were tiny? Something you worry the world will knock out of them?
What about them do you hope never changes?
How openly they love people
How silly they are. They don’t care who’s watching.
The way they want to know why about everything
They still tell me things
Think about how you were raised. Most people have one thing, and it doesn’t have to be dramatic.
What from your own childhood are you trying not to repeat?
Write as much or as little as you likeMy dad shouted. Not every day, but often enough that I learned to read his face at the door before I said anything. I loved him, and I still do, but I never told him when something was going wrong. Last week I raised my voice at Nora over her shoes, and I watched her go quiet in exactly the way I used to. That scared me more than anything she has ever done. I want her to bring me the bad news as easily as the good. I won’t get it right every time. But when I don’t, I want to go back and say sorry, because nobody ever did that for me.
As much or as little as you want to put down.
What do you want your children to say about their childhood?
That it was happy. That’s all.
That home was somewhere they could relax
That they had lots of freedom
That we did loads together as a family
Something they could say and mean, like “I can handle hard things”.
What would you like them to believe about themselves at eighteen?
Write as much or as little as you likeThat she’s loved whatever happens. Growing up, love in our house felt like something you earned by being good, and I was always a bit tired from trying. I don’t want Nora to feel she has to earn it. She can fail at something or make a choice I hate, and she’ll still come home to the same welcome. If she’s sure of that at eighteen, I think she’ll be brave about everything else.