But I cried when the bus pulled away to take her kindergarten, because for the first time she was leaving me.

No, she used those hands to break horses, raise children, sell watermelons on roadside stands, climb trees, and travel. My mother used her hands to live well.

I am going to make an effort to compliment her outward appearance as much as I do her other strengths, before she’s pushed to seek society’s shallow brand of satisfaction.

 I don’t know how to teach my daughter about beauty. I’m scared to do it wrong.