My daughter is part of an eight-week writing program this spring, an enrichment class offered through the school board.

My husband has a few doubts about this program. Partly because in order to get her there, one of us has to schlep across town while the other picks up our son at the regular school. And also because he’s a little worried our daughter will grow into a goth poet and we’ll have to get a place with a basement suite because she’ll never be able to pay her own rent.

But… she was SO excited on the first morning. You’d think we were taking her to a candy store for the day.

At three o’clock, I went to pick her up. I was chatting with a few moms I’d never met before, standing outside the closed classroom door. Then it burst open. The first one out was my daughter. She was wearing:

– polka-dotted pants
– a lime-green fuzzy sweater
– a leopard-print jacket with a faux-fur hood
– sequinned ankle boots
– a giant smile

It was quite something. All the moms’ heads tracked her as she bounded toward me.

And I thought two things. First, she is never going to be a goth poet in outfits like that. And second, she is so brimming with confidence that if she did decide to become one, there would be no way to stop her.

The class is making me wonder one thing, though…. Why do we reward reading and writing so generously in school, and then so little in life?

As soon as I come up with an answer for that one, I’ll let you know.

In the meantime, I’m thinking of investing in some sparkly ankle boots.