I met Nancy through The Red Dress Club. She’s got it, the writer thing. She can talk the writing-craft talk–I’m often all swoony when she does–and she walks it on her blog, Away We Go. I first fell for Nancy’s work when she wrote a fictional funeral scene for a Red Writing Hood prompt, but the piece that stays with me? Well, it’s also about the same family, but it’s a bit more somber.
Recently, I read the piece I’m sharing with you and it just… well, it resonated. So much so that I jumped on asking her if I could reprint it here.
And away we go!
If you haven’t read Tina Fey’s “Prayer for a Daughter” is it imperative that you click over and read it now.
This was a brilliant piece, and I could totally relate to it, except for the whole having-a-daughter-thing. So, while I would never dream of wearing Tina Fey’s Bossypants, I will provide this homage, for all those mothers of sons.
Prayer for a Son
Oh, Lord, please nerd this kid up. Not so much that he is writing manifestos (leave that to his mother), but enough that he knows the middle names of Star Wars characters.
Lead him, dear Lord, to band camp, chess club, scouts, and cross country.
Give him friends who are socially inept, so they may form a dorky tribe. Preferably in my house, away from the drugs and hot-rodders.
May he have friends that are girls, so that when he has a girlfriend, he remembers, and pauses.
And, oh Sweet Jesus, keep him away from Ed Hardy, gold chains, dirt bikes, mesh t-shirts, and styling gel.
Teach him to like math. Life is so much easier when you can count and stuff.
Please, Lord. If you insist that he thinks of sex every moment of the day, help him to fake it. My nerves cannot take it.
Help him to understand the intricate design of the washing machine, dishwasher, and toilet seat, so that his future wife will hate me a little bit less.
Give me strength, for there will be days that his heart will be broken, and he will not talk to me about it. He will wait for his father, and this will tear me in half.
Dear Lord, I know my sons will tower over me. At some point, they will use the top of my head as a table. Give me a sense of humor about this.
And in all seriousness, Lord: Help me always to see their father’s kindness in their eyes.
Give them gentle strength, so that when it’s finally okay to hug me again, they will.