I Trust You’ll Treat Her Well
~ by Victor Buono ~
I bequeath to you today one little girl … in a crispy dress …
with two blue eyes … and a happy laugh that ripples all day
long … and a flash of light blonde hair that bounces in the
sunlight when she runs. I trust you’ll treat her well.
She’s slipping out of the backyard of my heart this morning …
and skipping off down the street to her first day of school.
And never again will she be completely mine. Prim and proud
she’ll wave her young and independent hand this morning and
say “Good Bye”… and walk with little lady steps to
Now she’ll learn to stand in line … and wait by the alphabet
for her name to be called. She’ll learn to tune her ears to
the sounds of school-bells … and deadlines … and she’ll
learn to giggle … and gossip … and look at the ceiling
in a disinterested way when the little boy across the aisle
sticks out his tongue at her. And now she’ll learn to be
jealous. And now she’ll learn how it is to feel hurt inside.
And now she’ll learn how not to cry.
No longer will she have time to sit on the front porch steps
on a summer day and watch an ant scurry across the crack in
a sidewalk. Nor will she have time to pop out of bed with the
dawn to kiss lilac blossoms in the morning dew. No, now she’ll
worry about important things. Like grades … and which dress
to wear … and who’s best friend is whose. And the magic of
books and learning will replace the magic of her blocks and
dolls. And now she’ll find new heroes.
For five full years now I’ve been her sage and Santa Claus and
pal and playmate and father and friend. Now she’ll learn to
share her worship with her teachers … which is only right.
But, no longer will I be the smartest man in the whole world.
Today when that school bell rings for the first time … she’ll
learn what it means to be a member of a group. With all it’s
privileges. And it’s disadvantages too.
She’ll learn in time that proper young ladies do not laugh out
loud. Or kiss dogs. Or keep frogs in pickle jars in bedrooms.
Or even watch ants scurry across cracks in the summer sidewalk.
Today she’ll learn for the first time that all who smile at her
are not her friends. And I’ll stand on the front porch and watch
her start out on the long, lonely journey to become a woman.
So, World. I bequeath to you today one little girl … in a
crispy dress … with two blue eyes and a happy laugh that
ripples all day long … and a flash of light blonde hair that
bounces in the sunlight when she runs. I trust you’ll treat her well.