My autobiography title translates roughly as tough mother. It is, in part, a story of one of my favourite aspects of life; relating to my daughter. I tell her stories calling her Princess Pirate. Tonight she created a new one when she said good night. I kissed her on her head in a hug, and she said in her best teen voice, “Ugh, you are killing me with kisses!”
I told her a Princess Pirate story recently, and she thought that I was the Queen and her dad was the Pirate, when I always thought it was the other way around.
I told her a Princess Pirate story recently, and she thought that I was the Queen and her dad was the Pirate, when I always thought it was the other way around.
He liked (and took) the china, crystal glasses, and Waterford utensils. He stayed unemployed for long periods of his life because so many jobs he was eligible for were “beneath” him. He was content to live a tiny life, and only went along, never inspiring or creating any adventures.
I had the drive to travel, try new things, and do knew things or at least fun things we like. I could care less about china, or crystal, although I do like the feel of well made utensil! I will do whatever it takes, because who else is going to do it if not me?
I am not sure which version bothers me more. As a queen, I have no King, but how does he get the exciting role of pirate? Because this is what male culture assumes, even to my child? It’s not based on his personality, surely?
As the pirate, I feel I am appropriately counter culture, and suits me the best in the coupling of two fantasies that created the amazing Princess Pirate!
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