A birthday letter to my 12-year-old daughter

Hi Kara. Another year, another birthday letter. You turned 12 on Sunday, and yet again I can’t believe that a year has passed so quickly.

Perhaps more than any other, this has been a year of significant change and growth for you. So here are a few reflections on the past 12 months in your life.

A bigger pond

The single biggest thing that happened this past year was your transition from primary to secondary school. It’s a big step, not just because you have to learn to be much more self-reliant but also because of the big size difference. Your primary school had three classes per year group; your new secondary school has ten.

We always figured the switch wouldn’t be as overwhelming for you as it can be for other children. Confidence is a commodity you’ve never lacked. And the move couldn’t have come soon enough for you; it had been pretty much all you’d talked about since early in year six. If anyone was going to make the adjustment smoothly, it was always likely to be you.

And that’s how it’s turned out. There were some early wobbles as you and some of your old friends drifted apart. It took a while to settle into new friendship groups, although it’s helped hugely that you’ve thrown yourself into so many clubs and activities, from sports to drama to puzzle clubs. You’re thriving academically. You’ve worked out how to maximise the school’s house points system – and which teachers you can most easily bend to your will. Important life skills, those.

I attended your parents’ evening a couple of weeks ago, and all your teachers praised not just your ability but also your attitude. I was very proud, even if it did become a bit cringeworthy by the third or fourth time. You’re succeeding at every aspect of school with enviable ease. Most importantly, though, you seem to be happy. And that in turn makes me happy.

A girl of many talents

Sport – and in particular cheer – remains a big part of your life. But starting at secondary school has given you the opportunity to try out other sports too. You’ve excelled at badminton – you can already give me a decent game – but you’ve always been one of those people who can pick up pretty much any sport instantly, whether it’s basketball, cricket, athletics or anything else you’ve tried. Ability is not your problem; the challenge is finding the time.

Like your brothers, you’re handy in the kitchen. Baking has become something of a comfort activity. (You do a good particularly good plaited bread.) You’re comfortable cooking your own food and will often lend a hand when I’m preparing dinner. And you’ve definitely got an eye for presentation, pulling together all manner of elegant salads and lunches in a manner that almost justifies the amount of time you spend watching Instagram reels. While we need to work on your tolerance of curry and chilli, your food repertoire continues to expand. As long as it’s not too spicy, you’ll try most things.

You also have a talent for music. Not so much playing an instrument – you had potential but it wasn’t something you ever prioritised among all your other activities. But you definitely have a good ear for recognising songs and a surprisingly encyclopaedic knowledge of music for someone so young. You constantly surprise me by being able to name random songs of all eras and genres because you’ve seen them on TikTok or because they once featured on an episode of Stritctly or The Masked Singer. (I take credit in particular for immersing you in 80s and 90s music, although you might regard that as a curse.)

One thing you’re not so good at, though, is knowing where places are on a map. You can’t remember local road names even though you’ve lived in Thatcham your whole life. You don’t know in which direction Oxford or London are. And the M4 appears to be the only road that exists in your mind. Unlike your brothers, who are both travel nerds and keen to learn to drive, you seem to assume that there will always be someone to give you a lift and who knows where to go. (You may well be right on that front.)

The precious gift of time

You’re so busy flying around at a thousand miles per hour that you and I get to spend much less time together than I would like. But, rain or shine, we have a little 20-minute window on Friday mornings when I walk you to badminton club before school. That’s our time. Sometimes we talk about your week. Or you’ll ask me to test you on whatever you’ve been learning in maths, so you can show off your latest skills. Whatever we talk about, it’s our private dad/daughter time and it’s become my favourite part of the week.

What else has happened over the past year? You’ve experienced your first break-up. (It barely registered a flicker of emotion.) We repainted and refurnished your bedroom. (I’m going to be charitable and say that you did help. A bit.) You’ve passed your Grandma in height, and I doubt it will be much longer before you surpass your mum.

This time next year you’ll officially be a teenager, although it’s felt like you’ve already been one for quite a while now. Each year passes in the blink of an eye and merges rapidly into the next one. I know you feel like you can’t grow up fast enough – hurry up, puberty! – but don’t wish away what remains of your childhood. A life of hormones, exams, work and responsibility awaits you. There’s no rush.

If I could give you one piece of advice, it would be to take time to enjoy these carefree years. Not least because I want to experience them with you. For now, you’re still – just about – daddy’s little girl. But you won’t be for much longer. Let’s enjoy these moments while we can because they’re pretty good.

Happy birthday, Kara.

Love,

Dad