When she was so small, she cried when I braided her hair, weaving it with colorful ribbons. So innocence until she grew into a teen. Be yourself I said and let her do her hair. She tore the ribbons from her hair and removed the braids. Constantly kept combing it, tossing it around in the air; as if without a care! Her most valuable possession was her comb slipped on her rear pocket of her jeans. She is a teen I said, let her grow, as I tried to let go. So years when by and now, I smile it all paid off at the end.
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