Banner design by Amy Louise.
DAUGHTER
Words by Kerry Graham
1996
Your ecstatic mother has just found out that she’s having a girl. Your father is less excited, having no idea how he’ll talk to a child that won’t want to play football or build forts out in the garden. Your mother will assure him that once you come along, he will have no time at all for the lads. She was a self-professed daddy’s girl and you will undoubtedly be one too. After pinning the sonogram on the fridge with colourful magnets, they will paint the spare room pink. Tiny knitted cardigans will litter the credit card statement, and lilac onesies will wait for you in the wardrobe.
2002
You’re six years old and covered in muck. Thank god there’s about to be a dark wash on, because your navy tracksuit bottoms are filthy. She will grip your arm tightly and you’ll squeal like a pig. That’s no way for a girl to act, she’ll scold you quietly, and you’ll nod sorrowfully. The following morning your brother will ask you to come outside and play, and you’ll say yes with a smile, because Daddy said that Mammy won’t be back from the salon until the afternoon. If you’re cleaned up before then, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Off come the floral sandals and on go the Pokemon reeboks.
2004
It’s the day of your First Holy Communion and you’ve never felt so awkward. Your scalp hurts from the rollers that plagued it last night. The poofy white petticoat underneath your dress will scratch at your skinny legs when you stand and fluff up when you sit down. Unfortunately for you, Mass is every single Sunday and your mother has an ever-rotating collection of hand-me-down floral dresses from your cousins to parade you around in. At least the other dresses don’t itch like this one. Your mother will wipe your face with a spit-damp hanky, once again mistaking one of your bigger freckles for dirt. As you await the end of the photograph session outside the chapel, you’ll look over at your male classmates running around in their suits and sigh. You can’t show them how much better you are at cartwheels while you’re dressed like this.
2010
You’re fourteen and about to head to your first nightclub, with an outfit your mother bought you in town. Apparently, proper girls don’t wear jeans on nights out, and she made sure you didn’t sneak a pair into your overnight bag. Lucky enough to be getting ready at an older cousin’s house, you’ll fidget awkwardly in your skater skirt and borrowed cardigan. As she finishes straightening your hair, your cousin will clap her hands in delight and shout that she always knew that you could look like a girl if you tried hard enough! You’ll blush, and her friends will giggle loudly. You’ll smear sparkly eyeshadow across your lids and try out a clear lip gloss. You’ll get used to the stinging in your eyes from the glitter, your cousin will assure you. You’re not sure that you will.
2015
You’re eighteen and the nightmare that is your Prom has officially begun. As you catch a glimpse of yourself in the bathroom mirror, you’ll shudder. Looking like an oompa-loompa was never on your to-do list, and yet here you are. The deep pink monstrosity hanging on the door of your wardrobe will taunt you as you attempt to do your makeup. It’s just going to bring out the orange in your skin, not the green in your eyes anyways. You’ll walk downstairs in your inherited gown, sport a pained smile for the required photographs, then count down until you can get wasted with your friends so your discomfort melts away. You’ll snap the heels on your sky-high shoes accidentally on purpose, so you simply have to throw on the converse a friend brought for you, and you’ll only take snaps from the waist up from that point on. What your mother doesn’t know won’t hurt her.
2016
As your first semester unfolds, you’ll realise that people dress fucking weird in college. You’ll see people in lounge suits, people in full suits, people in tracksuits. Once, you’ll even spot a dude in a full banana costume down in the physics department. Jeans, smudged eyeliner and an ill-fitting hoodie will become your new school uniform. While it won’t feel perfect, it’ll feel like progress. One day, shopping with friends in town, you’ll see a pair of heavy flat boots that you could kick a door down with. Your debit card whimpers as you swipe it. It’s worth it, to feel like yourself. The boots will not be coming home with you on the weekends, though. You’re not there, yet.
2019 - July
You’ve found it. The ultimate graduation outfit for you. Something that you feel amazing in, something that you want a million photos in. You’ll try it on and realize that it makes you feel the way those flat clumpy boots did in first year, but times a thousand. The girl behind the till will commend you on an excellent choice and sure isn’t it only a gorgeous vibrant colour? Pastels are so last year. You’ll smile and theorize quietly to yourself about how you’ll do your makeup for the day, and then realize something. You’re a real adult now, and it’s time to go hard or go home. When your mother asks if you’ve a dress sorted for the big day, you’ll assure her that you’ve a gorgeous wee number freshly purchased and ready to go. It’s not exactly a lie.
2019 - October
Your mother will recoil in shock when she spots you, eyes zoning in on you as soon as you walk in the door, fiddling with your jacket buttons nervously. How could she miss you, a splash of blood red and pale skin in a sea of blues, oranges and pinks. Your brothers will give out to you because you look better than them in a suit and you’ll laugh but be secretly heartened by their support. Your mother will snipe that she supposes you’ll get married in a suit too. Your father will reply that you’ll only look gorgeous if you do and shoot you a wink. He’ll tuck his own navy hankie into your pocket, and you’ll give him a watery smile. When you walk across the stage to collect your diploma, your grin will light up the room. Your mother will smile tightly in her seat. Back in your seat you’ll allow a few small tears to escape, safe in the knowledge that for once, you don’t have to worry about ruining your makeup.
2019 - November
You’ll pick up your grad photos and bring them home one weekend. Your mother will admit that you look lovely, even though she is still worried about what the neighbours will think. Your father will shush her, and you’ll concede that she’s trying. When he goes to make some tea, she’ll ask if you’re still going to wear a dress to your brother’s wedding next June and you assure her that you will, but only for the photographs and only if it’s hers. She’ll nod, then smile silently and you’ll feel relieved that she’s not pushing it. After you leave on Sunday night, she’ll email you pictures of Mary McAleese and Hillary Clinton with power suits on, and you’ll smile. She should stick to what she does best, you’ll think to yourself. Her taste in dresses may be impeccable, but you’d never be caught dead in wide-leg trousers in this lifetime.
Kerry hails not from Kerry, but from Donegal. Following a BA in Classics and English at NUI Galway, she went on to graduate from an MA in Writing in 2019. Her areas of interest include comedy, contemporary life, sexuality and gender. When she’s not writing, sleeping or trying to blow up on Tiktok, she can be found over-watering her plants, quietly playing the drums (it’s possible) or trying to convince her manager that hot pink is business casual. A firm believer in aliens, she hopes they believe in her too. Her work has been featured in ROPES, The Galway Review and local newspapers.
