We're All Someone's Daughter

As a college freshman, we weren’t allowed to have cars on campus. My memory is hazy about the details but what I remember: going with two friends out to lunch off campus and getting a ride with upperclassmen. Somehow our ride didn’t stay to take us home from lunch. So my friends and I had to decide: do we walk the couple miles back to campus or try to find a ride on our own? I remember walking through the parking lot looking for someone to ask. I remember asking an older woman who told us no.

And then I remember that same older woman circling back and offering the three of us a ride back to campus.

Most importantly I remember her words: “I have a granddaughter, and if she needed a ride, I’d hope someone would help her.”

I’m not sure why this memory has been on my mind so much lately. Maybe it’s because it’s June and we’re still in the season of graduations and sendings and moving from the end of school into summer mode. Perhaps it’s because I’ve been writing graduation notes and cards for high school seniors as they prepare for college and work. Maybe it’s simply the kindness of a stranger and her words: I’d hope someone would help her.

Isn’t that the truth—we’re all someone’s daughter and granddaughter. Many of us are someone’s mother. And ultimately, we’re all each other’s family. At least that is the hope I cling to as I raise my children.

I see this truth played out at the pool where mothers share snacks and expand picnic blankets. Where we’ll jump in after the toddler who toppled over without floaties. Where sunscreen is a shared commodity.

I see us sending text messages: Me too. I’m praying for you. I’m dropping off dinner tonight. Let me pick up the kids for you. I’m coming with you to that appointment. I’m running to the grocery store, let me grab groceries for your family. I know you’re going through a lot.

I see mothers at the park rocking babies and sharing stories of sleep regression and teething. I watch heads nod in agreement: this is hard.

I see library storytimes where we introduce ourselves to the new family and exchange phone numbers. Where we offer the number of the pediatrician our children love and the best place for ice cream.

I see us on the sidelines at the fields cheering for all the kids. Knowing each one by name and encouraging them, win or lose. We shuttle our kids and pick up the neighbor kid whose parents are both working late. We invite the friends down the street for popsicles and make an extra seat at the dinner table.

We open wide our hearts and doors. We’re mothers and daughters and aunts and friends. We have the opportunity to offer kindness to others remembering everyone is someone’s daughter.

We’re family.

Love,
Kim

You’re in Good Company: The Gift of Friendship, Motherhood, and Showing Up mixes personal stories, reflections, and helpful ideas, all based on the belief that hospitality doesn’t need to be perfect to matter.

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“Her recipe made not one, but two braided loaves—a double portion—symbolic of the double provision of manna that came before Sabbath to feed the Israelites wandering in the wilderness. To me, it simply meant: she had one to share.” // One to Share by Ruth Gyllenhammer

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In our earbuds: this episode about when to push and when to pull back in the middle school years on the Raising Boys & Girls podcast and this podcast episode on radical generosity + purposeful simplicity.

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A simple pleasure: peanut butter + chocolate on the go.

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