She Doesn’t Do Phony
Her teacher clutched the oversized envelope to her chest like it might burst into flames. Her eyes were apologetic. “I’m… sorry,” she said, wincing slightly as she handed it to me. “Retakes are next month,” she added, her voice laced with the kind of warning usually reserved for weather alerts or missed dentist appointments.
I raised an eyebrow. “They’re that bad, huh?”
The teacher gave me a sympathetic half-nod. “We tried.”
Tried what? I wondered. I mean, it’s preschool. I wasn’t expecting glamour shots. Maybe she blinked, or had marker on her face, or maybe her hair had been styled by gravity and snack time. I braced myself for a forehead covered in stickers or—God help us—a nose situation.
I slid the photo halfway out of the envelope… and burst out laughing.
Not out of mockery. Out of love. Pure, delighted, heart-full love.
There she was: my daughter, captured forever in glossy 5×7. Her face was stone serious. Brow furrowed. Lips set in a perfect straight line. The expression of someone absolutely unimpressed by whatever nonsense was going on in front of her.
I could almost picture it. Some poor photographer, doing their best to earn a toddler’s smile—waving a squeaky toy, making goofy noises, talking in baby talk like it was some kind of sorcery.
But my daughter? Oh, no.
She doesn’t do baby talk. Never has. From the moment she could form opinions (and trust me, she formed them early), she made it known that she was not here for foolishness.
She is thoughtful. Discerning. Not easily amused. She saves her smiles for the things that really matter—like dinosaurs, bubbles, building towers taller than herself, or the way her dog’s tail thumps when she walks into the room.
She doesn’t smile on command. And honestly? I love that about her.
This wasn’t a bad photo. This was a true photo. An unfiltered snapshot of the strong-willed, straight-shooting, fiercely independent little girl I get to raise.
“We won’t be needing retakes,” I told her teacher, still laughing, still a little in awe of this tiny human.
Because this isn’t just a school photo. It’s a time capsule. A glimpse into the soul of a girl who already knows who she is. A girl who will not be reduced to fake grins or silly voices or anyone else’s expectations.
And if I’m lucky—so, so lucky—she’ll stay that way.
I’ll frame that picture. I’ll hang it proudly. And years from now, when she’s off doing big, bold, real things in the world, I’ll look at it and smile.
Because even back then, before she could spell her name or tie her shoes, she already knew one very important thing:
She doesn’t do phony.
And that’s exactly who she’s meant to be.
