A letter to my niece I cannot send, for obvious reasons:

Dear M,

In a week, you will be fourteen years old. That's, like, a real teenager. High school material. Crazy talk.

It's no secret that you were a bit of a shock and surprise to us in the family. We didn't expect you. At. All. I didn't even know about you until you were over a month old, and it blew my mind to imagine my baby brother a father. I felt sorry for you, if I am honest. You entered the world in a messy time in our family's life, and the people around you really didn't have their bull hockey together when you arrived.

Luckily for you (and all of us), you kind of motivated everyone to get their acts together, and you have a pretty good set up now: a professional and responsible father, an involved mother, two younger siblings, a room and (score!) bathroom to yourself tucked away in a brand new suburb with an awesome neighborhood pool and a cul-de-sac full of kids. You have a good church community and a good school and a lot of close friends.

Still, I worry about you. Fourteen years old is a turning point, and next year you will be a freshman in high school. I receive your Facebook status updates and I wonder why the heck you useeeeee aaaaaall thoseeeeee exxxxxttttttrrrrraaaaaaa letttttttersssss in your sentences. Seriously, what is up with that? I want so badly to ask you, but my child therapist friend advises me never to point out that I am actually paying attention or I might get the big Unfriend. I look through your posted pictures and see that you are wearing a lot of eye make-up and lip gloss and maybe even a little contraband blush, and I worry that you think you need all those things to appeal to someone, when I think you are absolutely adorable in no make-up at all. You post song lyrics and you quote thoughts about love and I wonder who and what you are talking about, and do I need to kick his ass?

Your parents are a wee bit controlling and, I think, punish you for their own sins. They conceived you at sixteen and seventeen themselves, and I think it downright terrifies them to see you creeping towards your mother's age when she had you. As a result, they are pretty hard on you. I kind of hate it, because you are a great kid and you don't really deserve to be ridden quite so hard. I see you desperately trying to please them and I worry, because I don't want you to feel desperate for the approval of other people as you get older. You are great just the way you are, but no teenager would ever believe that.

I want to hang out with you and tell you I think you are wonderful, but your mom and dad are a little afraid to hand you over to the Scary Liberal Aunt, so I don't get to see you as often as I would like. They don't want me putting any free-wheeling ideas into your head. I won't remind them that I am the one was incredibly squeaky clean while they got drunk and had a kid in high school. That never goes over well. So instead, I just hang back and try to lift you up when I can. You are special to me.

As you enter your major high school years, all I want you to know is that exactly who you are is enough. You are beautiful, especially when you are yourself and not modeling yourself on your best friends. You are a wonderful, thoughtful friend. You are a great thinker. You are observant of people and it makes you more considerate and helpful because you see what people need. You have crazy long legs that sometimes trip you up and a genuine smile that doesn't come out often enough. You deserve to be surrounded by people who make you feel good.

Don't ever let a boy make you feel less than. Don't pine for boys who don't treat you well. I listen to the high school swimmer girls while they are drying off on the pool deck and my boys are getting into the water, and it scares the living daylights out of me. They make so many excuses for boys' bad behavior. Don't ever excuse it. Demand better.

I wish I could save you from the heartache I know is coming. I wish I could surround you with bubble wrap and unpack you when you are twenty-five and a little bit more fortified. Most of all, I just want you to know I am here. I'm not your parent, I love you, and you can't disappoint me.

I just wish I knew how to tell you that in a way that you would believe it and understand it.