“She’ll be very popular in Kindergarten.”

And the Prodigal Blogger returns.
Back at school. Life is moving in about fifteen thousand directions at once, and I like it. There will be a status report, but that is not for today.
You might remember that I was writing songs this summer. Well, I half-converted one into a concept for a picture book entitled Advice to My Daughter because I want her to grow up to be as cynical, stubborn, and awkward as her proud mama. Now, that is very presumptuous of me: I’m assuming that I will have children, that one will be a girl who is interested in men, and that she will care at all about what I say.
But I think we’re all a bit presumptuous when it comes to children. For instance, not all little girls appreciate being told that they won’t find good husbands if they don’t brush their hair. Some of us grow up not to own hairbrushes.
Anyway, since my drawing is almost as good as my singing, I’m going to have to wait until we have the technology to bring back Shel Silverstein, and you’ll have to be content with just having the words.


Advice to My Daughter

Take it from me, baby girl.
Take it from your Mama who knows.
But take my advice with a grain of salt
‘cause you’ve got to learn to walk your own road.

Boys from one-way streets only got one-track minds.
And a man who wears a wristwatch won’t give you the time.
And a guy who says he’ll learn to love your ramblin’ ways
should learn how to be left behind.

A man in slim britches’ll slip out of your life.
And a guy with a big bankroll just wants a little wife.
And the one who smiles like sunshine’s just waitin’ ‘til nightfall
to show you where he hid the knife.

Take it from me, baby girl.
Take it from your Mama who knows.
But take my advice with a grain of salt
‘cause you’ve got to learn to walk your own road.

A boy with clean shoes still needs breakin’ in.
And the ones who win your heart twice break it again.
And a guy with strong hands’ll hold you tight,
but leave you nothing but needles and pins.

Beware guitar players: they’ll pluck your strings.
And a man who calls you “Princess” wants to be your king.
And when it comes to sharing secrets, you’ll learn, my dove,
that not all birds are meant to sing.

Take it from me, baby girl.
Take it from your Mama who knows.
But take my advice with a grain of salt
‘cause you’ve got to learn to walk your own road.

I think I could do some real damage with that.

For whatever reason, I can’t get to the page to see my list of followers, so there will be no Love-Fest today. Instead, you can go here to buy me the “new” Shel Silverstein book.

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