Look Don't Touch

I'm terrified of having kids. I know how much my parents messed me up, and I can't imagine being responsible for that kind of damage, or on the flip side, the pressure of ensuring minimal damage incurs. Having said that, I love dribbling bits of rebellion into the life of my infant niece, adding some variety to the piano-lesson-calculus-tutor-track-and-field future her overachieving parents surely have planned out for her. As I see it, these are my responsibilities as an aunt:

I want to show her how to turn her hips when she throws a punch
so she'll never have to worry on the playground,
though she may spend some time with the principal.
I want to show her the original Star Wars
while she's young enough to overlook the thin story, stiff acting,
and incest-that-almost-was between Luke and Leia.
I want to show her where to smudge her eyeliner
to look like she's exhausted
so her teachers will take pity and allow late work.
I want to show her old pictures of her father
because even though he's always had those crow's feet,
the light behind them only came after she was born.
I want to show her covers from Cosmopolitan
and tell her that, under no illusion or circumstance,
should she ever believe the articles inside.
I want to show her that tattoos are forever--
even laser removal leaves scars--
but henna will panic her parents just as much.
I want to show her the difference between sunset and sunrise
and fill the night between with inebriated hours that
we'll never disclose to her father.
I want to show her that love isn't like the movies,
but with the right one and a little luck,
it'll feel like it.
I want to show her all my mistakes
so she won't see me as the model her parents want,
but know that the decisions are hers to make.