Dear Baby

Spring flowering

The following piece is one in a series of letters to my prospective granddaughter.

Leila. Your name is Leila.

You arrived in the early morning hours of April 19th. The 250th anniversary of the Battles of Lexington and Concord. Whatever else you may be, you are an American girl. Born in New York City, as at least five generations of your forebears. You have Jewish, Catholic, and the bluest of WASP blood in your veins. Iowa farm and Ellis Island. A hybrid, as we all are in one form or another. Middle name Jamie: feminine for James. For your grandfather and great-uncle who died too young. You embody a series of legacies.

But Leila: that name is all yours. You begin as we all do, utterly dependent yet full of possibility. You’ve drawn your first breath; we await your first step. And the wonder and mystery that will follow. We’re behind you.