Jordan the Strong, My First Heart-Doubling

Jordan had just finished a 7 km ride and was getting off her bike at school when two big boys approached her ominously. Each of them was a head taller than she was, and they smirked at each other knowingly as they walked toward Jordan. I watched from a distance, ready to intervene in if needed, but I hung back for the time to see how Jordan would go, flying solo. As they neared, one of the big boys said something short and pointed to my little girl. She was thirsty and tired from a long ride, but you wouldn't have known by her reaction to him. Jordan sized them both up quickly, looked at them doubtfully through a furrowed brow, then said something even shorter. After that, she quickly cut her eyes away from them, as if they were not worth looking at, turned her back to them, flipped her honey-colored hair, and strutted away with her little sweaty head held high. They looked at each other, shrugged, and walked the other direction. I called Jordan over to me and asked what had transpired. She didn't look shaken in the least, but I was curious.

"What did they say to you, Jojo?" I inquired.

"They said, 'Why do YOU ride a BOY's bike?'" recalled Jordan.

"And what did you tell them?" I asked.

"I told them, 'Because I DO!'" Jordan answered, laughing like it was a stupid question, as she recalled her answer.

Not only does Jordan not back down when challenged, but she occasionally partakes in administering justice. During a parent-teacher conference recently, I heard this very interesting story about Jordan. During one of her class's weekly garden visits, there was a boy in her class who acquired a prickly stick and then visited several "friends" in the class, prickling and poking them mercilessly, evading the teacher and classroom helper cleverly. Jordan watched for a minute, taking in the injustice, then chased the perpetrator down, took the stick from him, and beat him with it, while yelling down at him, "How do you like that? Do you want me to poke you with this stick like you're doing to everyone else? You stop that!" He was dumbfounded and scared straight during the rest of the time in the garden that day. After hearing the story, I enquired of the teacher as to whether I should correct Jordan for being aggressive. Sandy laughed and told me that she and the rest of the class watched in amazement and nearly broke into applause--Jordan wasn't the bully, she restrained the bully. Listening to Sandy, I found myself cherishing the moment, enjoying the retelling of just but aggressive wonders performed by this fierce girl-child who now inhabits my house.

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Jordan's confidence is astounding during the sort of confrontations that would have sent me running for the hills or at least for a teacher when I was a little girl. That's just Jordan. She is unfazed and unafraid, even in the face of larger, stronger boys and class bullies. She is bold and strong like I never was as a child, like I still struggle to be as an adult. She has the focus and determination that I carry within my genes (those that love me would label these traits "OCD tendencies"), combined with the easy confidence and athleticism that I fell in love with in Greg. She has my mother-in-law's cheerfulness and my father's eyes, and I think everything about her emanates beauty.

I love the competitive look Jordan gets at her swim races, the tendency to paint herself like a native if left alone with markers or chalk, the silly monkey dance she shamelessly performs on command, the way she paints carefully with watercolors so that the seahorses don't smudge. I enjoy the out-of-tune violin practices we endure every morning at 6:29 and her brave BMX bike racing with her friend Zach, most recently accomplished while wearing her pearl earrings underneath her helmet. I love so many things about my little girl, but most of all, I love Jordan because she is mine.

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Before I had children, I had always thought of birthdays in terms of my own birthday, an end in itself, a special celebration of my life on the most important day of the year--a little narcissistic, I know. But, with the birth of Jordan, eight years ago, suddenly, my birthday was no longer the most important day of the year. Each of the birthdays of my daughters is cause for celebration, not only for them, but for me as their mother. I have begun to see their birthdays not only the marker of their age or the annual call to furious baking, but as the anniversaries of the day of their entrance into my life. Each time another daughter was born to me, I am quite sure that the size of my heart, and it's capacity to love at least doubled. Jordan was the first in this process for me, and so each year, the anniversary of her birth marks not just the first doubling of my heart, but the beginning of the era of parenthood, an era that is marked not by fulfilling my own dreams, but facilitating those of my children.

So, this January, as I have thought about the eight years that have passed since my heart first doubled in order to hold more love for Jordan, I celebrate the unique person that is Jordan Kira Mizell, the one whose name means "descender from the throne of God", the child that came charging into my life, dividing forever the time into before and after her birth day. I am absolutely in awe of the strength in the fierce child, and it is my privilege and honor to love and protect, to guide and discipline and prepare the woman that is growing a little more every day, replacing the beautiful little girl I now know.

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Happy Eighth Birthday, Jordan. Your Mama thinks you are a wonder.