My daughters couldn’t be more different. My six-year-old is a delicate little girl, a slender sprite with wild frizzy hair, knobby knees, and incredibly thin limbs. Yet within her small frame lies a remarkable strength, a radiant energy that carries her through the day, as if she could conquer the world despite being so slight. In contrast, my three-year-old is a delightful bundle of joy, with a chubby frame that almost matches her sister’s height. She possesses the innocence and sensitivity of a toddler, bursting into tears as swiftly as she giggles, and crumpling into a sad heap if she senses any displeasure.
Physically, my older daughter is a blonde with piercing blue eyes, while my younger one shares my dark brown hair and deep brown eyes. The resemblance is evident: my older daughter resembles her father, and my younger daughter mirrors me. (In her more tactful moments, my mother-in-law makes sure to highlight that my older child’s petite stature comes from her side, while the younger one’s roundness is clearly inherited from me. What a gem she is.) People frequently look at my daughters with curiosity, sometimes even questioning whether they are siblings. Once, someone had the audacity to ask if they share the same parents. I was so taken aback that all I could manage was a stunned “yes”. A close friend suggested that I could have responded with a cheeky, “as far as my husband knows (wink)!”
The contrasts between my daughters extend beyond their physical appearance; they are also emotionally distinct. The one common thread that binds them is their unwavering fascination with princesses—princess movies, dolls, and attire.
Having attended an all-girls school from sixth to twelfth grade, I am deeply appreciative of my parents’ sacrifices to provide me with such an enriching environment. It was a place steeped in tradition, filled with exceptional teachers who inspired us. One English teacher, in particular, stood out; she was fervent about illustrating how women have often been marginalized throughout history. She was particularly critical of “princess” culture, arguing that it taught young girls that their highest aspirations were to be pretty and find a prince. “What are we teaching our future women?” she would lament. “Surely, we are worth more than this!”
Fast forward two decades, and here I am, surrounded by an assortment of princess-themed paraphernalia. Despite my efforts to provide a wide array of toys—dinosaurs, matchbox cars, and Legos—they consistently gravitate back to the princesses. I could easily withhold these toys, but I believe that forbidden things often hold a particular allure. Thankfully, when it comes to books, my daughters have diverse tastes and seldom request Disney Princess titles—a small victory!
When my daughters opt for a princess toy over something more empowering, I can almost hear my high school teacher’s voice echoing in my mind. “What message are we sending?” Guilt washes over me, leaving me anxious about whether I’m honoring the legacy of those who fought for my rights. How can I ensure my daughters grow into strong, independent individuals? I encourage them to confront their fears and demonstrate problem-solving abilities. Since their father often works late, they know that if something needs to be tackled, it’s up to me. I strive to instill in them the importance of being both loving and strong. But am I doing enough?
Recently, at the park, my daughters were engrossed in play in the sandbox when an older boy approached and snatched a shovel from my three-year-old without a word. She instantly burst into tears, and the boy walked away, shovel in hand. My six-year-old, looking like the tiniest pixie, stood up and approached him. I held my breath, hoping she would handle it without resorting to tears or begging. Instead, she fixed him with an icy glare that I didn’t anticipate. To my astonishment, he returned the shovel to her, and she graciously said “thank you.” In that moment, she exemplified strength, grace, and composure.
After reclaiming the shovel, my older daughter handed it back to her younger sister, and they resumed their sandy adventure, growing dirtier with each scoop. The scene would have delighted my English teacher, but it was the display of girl power that would have truly made her proud.
So, my dear daughters, play with your princesses if that’s what you choose today. If you can summon the strength to stand up for what matters when it counts, then you are destined for greatness.