That Girl

Carly came into the world loving most things; in fact, I could probably count on one hand the things she truly hates. In no particular order, I would most definitely include shoes, peacocks, bigots, injustice and math. And while her "despise list" is rather short, I must say that the hate is deep and intense and for always.

Unfortunately, her hate for all things math has continued into the final days of this semester. She finds herself caught between a D and an F in a class where she needs a C. Her professor has not been much help; her mother advised her NOT to drop the class when that was an option; the tests are on computer so she doesn't even know what she's missing.

To continue in her major towards a degree that will enable her to work with women who are struggling with mental health issues, she has to get a C in math, and unlike so many young women, she refuses to adjust her goal, settle for something easier just because she's hit a road block.

We talked on the phone this afternoon. She asked for my advice like we were old friends.

• Should she keep working towards a D in math or concentrate on other classes where she can almost smell an A?
• Next semester, she'll get a tutor early in the semester,
• and she'll take the class as a 4-day three hour class instead of a 3-day three hour class.
• Maybe she'll look for a different teacher.

These were just a few points that she made.

What she didn't say was even more impressive.

She didn't say,

• This is too hard.
• The teacher's not fair.
• I'm changing my major.
• Maybe I'm not college material.
• This is your fault. I told you I wanted to drop the class.

Don't get me wrong. I could hear the quiver in her voice, the frustration in the quiet pauses. She was upset. She was very upset. But even at this tender age, she had the big picture in mind.  She searched deeper and tapped into the reservoir of strength that the women in our family keep hidden from view.

Her telling me that she had aced the math class would not possibly have made me any prouder. It doesn't take much heart to get an A.

But to fail a class with dignity, with hard work, to know what really matters, now that takes heart. A heart that tries to rescue baby moles and broken hearted friends. A heart that will sit with her crazy mother when it should be the other way around. A heart that will stand up and speak when gays or blacks are feeling the heat of discrimination. A heart that loves carelessly and forgives too quickly. A heart that loves old people's stories and can pretend with any preschooler. A heart that hates shoes and peacocks and math.

I love that heart. I love that Girl.