She NEVER...

...
stops talking. She wakes up, and before even opening her eyes she asks: "Daddy, do you want me to tell you my dream?" And without waiting for an answer, she begins to talk. She tells me her dreams in all their grueling details. During breakfast she talks about her favorite TV-series, she shares her plans for the day when I drive her to school, then says good-bye while already talking to a friend she meets at the gate. When I pick her up after school, she tells me about her troubles with some of her friends, tries to teach me what she learned in school while doing her homework, doesn't stop talking while I try to photograph her (see today's blip). Sometimes she interrupts her talking to shed some tears because of something she experienced at school or because of a homeless dog she saw on the street, but even then her tears speak volumes. And when we put her to bed she continues her endless dialogue with us, her inside world and God until she falls asleep mid-sentence.

 

Today we celebrate her 10th birthday. These ten years have been a steep learning curve for me as her dad: I learned that I can love another human being more than I love myself. I learned that I am willing to lose a night's sleep worrying about a sick baby. I learned that nothing matters more than to hold her in my arms when she needs it, and that nothing makes me happier than the laughter of a giddy girl.

And I learned that every one of her words is more precious than anything I might say to her.
I learned to listen.