My daughter

I remember that when my daughter was maybe 10 or 11, she was awestruck with the notion of ironing her own clothes. I allowed her to iron one day, and somehow she burned her face. A blister quickly formed underneath her eye. Now that I write this, I am thinking maybe I should say she was 13, because allowing a 10- or 11-year-old to iron seems irresponsible. But this is how clever my daughter is – she put on a hooded sweater. She takes the hood and puts it on her head; strings drawn tightly and tied. My husband and I look at her and then at each other. “Why is she walking around the house with a hood on her head?” So we let her walk pass us a few times. We’re dumbfounded, but say nothing. She walks by a few more times. We’re too curious: “Porshai, why are you walking around the house with a hood on your head?” “I don’t know,” she says. “Well, take it off.” She unties the strings, pulls the hood of her head and bam, we see a fresh bubbling blister.
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