Though I am not religious I still wish some of these things for my daughter:
A Mother’s Prayer for Her Child By Tina Fey
“First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.
May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.
When the Crystal Meth is offered, may she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.
Guide her, protect her when crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.
Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels. What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.
May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.
Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen.Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.
O Lord, break the Internet forever, that she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.
And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.
And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back. “My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.
“Daddy! This!” The little girl whined as she knocked a box of cereal off the shelf, causing August to groan. “We already have that, munchkin.” He replied, grabbing the box and and putting it back on the shelf. Rae pouted, getting up from the front of the buggy and choosing to instead crawl on him, hanging from his arm. “When I said I wanted a monkey, this is not what I had in mind.”
A year ago, yesterday, my father passed away. He had only been ill for a few days, so we were all a bit shocked. Seven months later my mother also passed away, but I’ll save her story for another time. Today, I want to celebrate my father’s life.
If you’d ask my father, he tell you that he was nothing special; just an ordinary man. But that wouldn’t be true, or maybe it should have been true. To Mom, my brothers and me, he was wonderful. I often wondered how he got placed in our family. With a father that was a compulsive gambler and an obsessive liar, an older sister who was domineering and a younger sister who was manipulative, my father could have grown into a bitter and cruel person. Instead, much like his own mother, he was kind, caring and devoted to his family. His childhood was hard, though he would deny that and be surprised if you suggested it.
College wasn’t an option for him and, so my father became a mechanic. He worked on large trucks for our local electric company most of my life, though prior to that he co-owned a custom car shop, drove a school bus and worked at a marina, often working more than one job at a time. While I was a child he worked the evening shift 5 days a week and the day shift every Sat. I was 12 yrs old before I realized that fathers don’t usually work 6 days a week. We couldn’t afford everything we wanted, but we had everything we needed, my dad made sure of that.
Best of all, my dad loved my mother…really loved her. And, despite my own love for her, I know that could sometimes be hard. Though for him, it was never difficult or, to us kids at least, it didn’t appear to be. That’s what made it the best gift to us. Their love wasn’t the mushy kind, being shown more through actions then words. My father always put my mother first, even over us, which is the way it should be. He never forgot a birthday or anniversary. He never even looked at other women. He often sacrificed his own wants and needs for her and, together, they taught me what a marriage should be. I looked for a man like him and never did find one, instead I found someone like my mother, but that’s another story.
My father didn’t consider himself to be smart, but to me he was the wisest of men. He taught me so much. When I was confused about life he always seemed to have an answer. Though a devout Catholic, my father always told me that “God gave us all a brain to reason things out and not follow anything or anyone blindly." Not your standard Catholic doctrine. He told me that a person is lucky to count his true friends on one hand, but his family was for life and should be treated preciously…even though you might not always agree with them or even particularly like them. I learned to be loyal, kind and tolerant from him. I could go on forever listing examples of his kindness and wisdom, but I’ll leave it at that.
While it’s true that I believe my father was a saint, he wasn’t without faults. I’ve been told by my aunts that he had a bad temper. I only saw it 2 or 3 times and each time it was never violent. I asked him about it once and he told me that he "taught” himself to leave the room when he got angry, because he didn’t want to ever “hurt anyone." What a good idea. Also, he could be overly exact with things. Our family joke was that no matter the size of the cake, my father could cut it into perfectly equal-sized slices for the number of people present. He could fold sheets to look like they came straight out of the package. A trick no one else in our family ever mastered, including my mom. He saved every piece of paperwork he every got…all neatly organized and labeled. My brother is considering buying an industrial-sized shredder to deal with it all. But these faults are what made him human and gave him character.
I believe our world would be better if more people were like my father. If we could take our faults and turn them around, leave the room when we’re angry and talk things out when we’re calmer, love our spouses more than anyone else, devote ourselves to our family and teach our kids to do the same. Be open-minded even when devoted to our own believes. To judge people by their actions and forgive their faults. To think of others before ourselves. To think of others before ourselves. What a novel idea.
I strive to be like him, though I’m woefully short of the mark. I miss him everyday and feel him with me. Thank you for letting me celebrate his life with you.
Request- “Hi!! Your stories are great. This request might be out of your comfort level since you mainly write from the male characters point of view, but I was hoping that maybe you could do a Maria Reynolds story from her POV. I think it would be interesting to see her view on everything that went down with Alexander. Thanks!!😊”
A/N- (I did so much research for this fic. Did you know that Burr stopped Hamilton from dueling James Monroe and he was basically Jefferson in ‘We Know’ because he confronted Hammy about the money and rumors and Ham was like ‘look at these letters from my side chick’
Also Maria was 24 and had a duaghter with James when this started but I’m too lazy to go back and insert a child into this fic
also also (these author’s notes just get longer and longer jesuis) sorry this is kinda short i wanted to make it longer but i’m writing this at 4 am and i have 5 other fics to write before I leave :O”
I felt the sting before his palm even collided with my face. I’m used to it, God am I used to it, but that doesn’t make it hurt less every time it happens. The pain bloomed across my face like a flower riddled with thorns.
“Don’t fucking talk back to me you bitch.” James wrapped his fingers around my throat, but he didn’t constrict, yet.
“I-I only asked where you were going.” I stuttered. I felt rage boiling inside me, aimed at the man I no longer knew, but I was all to aware that if I wasn’t careful, the aftermath would be bloody.
He glared, and I coughed as his fingers clenched slightly. “You should know better than to ask that.” he growled before releasing me. I took a deep breath. I don’t remember the last time I was so grateful for air. Probably the last time James was upset.
“I’m sorry.” I whispered.
His lips snarled and he laughed a cold laugh that sent shivers through me. “Have a nice life, Maria.” he spat before turning and walking out the door.
When I was sure he was gone, I sighed and sat down on the deep yellow parlor sofa, dirty and worn from the countless nights James hadn’t made it to our bed. I was grateful he was gone. For a few hours at least, I was free. He would come back, though. He always did.
It had been six days since James left me. No letters, not even a small note. No idea where he was. No idea when he was coming back. No sign that he cared about me at all.
Everyday bills and notices of unpaid debts poured in. I stared down at them helplessly. James had never been gone this long before. Usually it was just a night, maybe a full day. I looked from the many papers to the door. James wasn’t coming home. Something had to be done.
The air was warm as I walked along the streets, but I felt cold. Despite everything, there was a small glimmer of golden hope. James may be gone, and I had nothing, but James was gone. The light inside of me dimmed when I saw several children out playing in front of one of the house. I was hit with the stark reminder of why this all started, and how it was my fault.
I felt my insides churning as I knocked on what I hoped was the right door. A tired and sullen looking man appeared before me. He perked up at the sight of me.
“Hello.” he said carefully.
“H-hello sir.” I stuttered, feeling uncharacteristically embarrassed. “I really sorry to bother you; you’re obviously very busy.” I looked down. My coiled hair fell over my face. I felt his touch on my arm and flinched away instinctively.
“Sorry,” he said quickly. “How did you get these?” His voice was quiet. I glanced and noticed he was staring at the purple and yellow flowers that riddled my arms and collarbone. I couldn’t think of anything to say. All I did was stare helplessly up at the older man. His eyes were dark and tired, but underneath all that there was genuine concern, something I hadn’t seen a very long time. “What’s your name?” he asked quietly.
“Maria Reynolds.” I said meekly.
A grin spread slowly across his face. “Maria.” he said like it was something spectacular. “Alexander Hamilton. Please, come in.” He opened the door wider and stepped aside.
“Thank you, sir.” I said as I walked past him. I looked around at the calm household. I had not been here before this, but I could still tell that the house was empty and unusually quiet.
“Please sit.” Alexander said. I nodded and sat down on the couch he gestured to, still taking in my surroundings. Books and quills covered practically every surface. “Can I get you anything?”
“No. I really shouldn’t stay long.” I said. Thoughts of what James might do if he knew I was here flashed through my mind. I almost made a run for it. Alexander sensed this.
“It’s okay, Maria.” He sat down next to me. “No one will know you’re here.” I nodded and swallowed hard. I hated asking for help, but I had no other choice.
“I came to ask you for favor…” I started.
“Of course.” Alexander assured. I bit my lip and looked down at my hands.
“My husband is…difficult.” I explained. Alexander nodded, signaling both sympathy and understanding. “He…well he left about a week ago, and now bills are piling up and-”
Alexander held his hand up and stopped me from rambling any further. “Maria, I would be not only a fool, but also an ass if I didn’t help you.” he smiled. Alexander stood up from the couch gracefully and walked through an open doorway. I leaned back and saw him bending over a very chaotic looking desk with a quill in his hand. He returned to me with a satisfied grin, and held out a large rectangle of paper. I took it from him slowly and glanced down.
“Oh, Mr Hamilton, sir. This is too much. I couldn’t take this.” I uttered.
He waved a hand in the air. “Please, I’m more than willing. If you need more, please come see me again,” He grabbed my hand and brushed his lips against it softly. “Miss Maria.” My heart fluttered at the gentle notion. I hadn’t experienced such kindness from a man in years. “I will walk you home.” he offered, holding his arm out. I took it gratefully.
“You’re too kind, sir.” I commented with a small on my face.
“Please, call me Alexander, or Alex even.” he said. I smiled and looked down as we walked out onto the street. I told Alexander all the right turns to take until we arrived in front of the house I once shared with James Reynolds. I sighed and turned to Alexander.
“Thank you, Alexander, for everything.” I stressed.
“Of course.” he smiled. His hand trailed down my forearm slowly. “If there’s anything else I can do for you, Maria, just let me know.”
Realization hit. Of course. It was such a large sum of money of course he would want something more. And he looked so stressed too. It made sense.
I looked up at him through my eyelashes. “Would you like to come inside Alexander?”
He looked out towards the street. Whether he was trying to decide if this was worth it or simply checking to see that no one was looking, you couldn’t tell, but after a moment he turned to you.