Throughout my life, I have been on a pursuit of justice and equality.  Nothing chaps my ass quite like seeing someone oppressed or treated unfairly.  Part of this is because I, myself, have been a victim of cruelty and injustice in my past.  So, I tend to root for the underdog, seek out the meek, speak for those who cannot speak for themselves and all that good stuff.

My son came along and he was refreshingly just like me.  I knew I could raise him in a way that would shelter him from undue harshness and also give him the self-esteem to carry him through the tough parts that didn’t go his way.  That’s worked out all right.  He and I can huddle together and talk about things and hash it all out, brainstorming ways to navigate the tricky teenage hardships that come along.

Then my daughter came along and she’s not like me at all.  She’s exactly the kind of bright, shiny, popular girl that I hated when I was young.  The kind who always seemed to have the sun shining on her when she was chilly and shade appear from nowhere when she was warm.  You know those girls.  Don’t they make you kind of want to barf?  What do you do when one of them is your daughter?  You change your whole view of the world is what you do.

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