On pride and memories… and the beginning of my journey down this crazy path.

Now it’s no surprise to me that my daughter didn’t start loosing teeth until just recently. She’ll be 7 next month by the way. But I must say…. she’s awfully adorable when showing off her gap toothed grin. It brings me to wonder…. was I ever proud of anything as a child?
I must admit I don’t remember much of my childhood. Parents fought a lot, on worked a lot. My great grandmother and my grandfather (or Papa as us kids called him) cared for myself and my younger bother. My mother tells me I was a unruly brat and that I’m lucky to have made it this far. She tells me of the things I did. I would bite myself, and kick and scream. You know? A typical fit that a 3-4 year old would throw, only ten times worse. Sometimes I’m glad I don’t remember. But at the same time…. I don’t really remember being proud of something I did. I don’t remember my friends,  or the first time I rode a bike. So it is here that I admit my fear.
My daughter kicks and screams. She hits the floor, stomps and throws herself around. I can’t help but ask myself is she will end up just like me. Or wonder how I have failed as a parent, just as my father did I’m sure. People assure me constantly that I am doing just fine and that her behavior is totally normal. I’m still not completely confident in their claims.
What can I do, right?

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