There once was a little girl named Maya...

Once upon a time there was a little girl named Maya.

Maya lived near Lansing, Michigan, with her loving mother, two sisters, brother, stepdad and two Maltese puppies named Ben and Jerry. Her 71-year-old grandmother, who was from India and who Maya called “Nani,” lived nearby, and her stepdad's parents, who commented on Maya's charm every time they saw her, were only half a day's drive away. She had lots of friends, too; her bestie was named Alyna.

Maya was lovable for lots of reasons, but mostly because she was so special. Different. Unique. One-of-a-kind. She was like other little girls in the way she talked back to her mommy sometimes and was so easily frustrated and argued with her siblings – especially her brother, who was one year older – but she had what her stepdad referred to as a special “spark,” a personality that was precocious and advanced and compelling and noteworthy and exceptional.

It was assumed that Maya would one day become a movie star or famous stage actress or something artistic because she had such a flair for the dramatic, was so expressive and funny, and could be so much larger than life. It wasn’t a talent for singing or dancing that led people to assume this; it was the sheer force of her personality, the spark. She wasn’t loud. She was just special. She didn’t demand that people pay attention to her. They just did because she stood out.

All parents think their children are special – well, if they’re good parents, they do – but Maya really was something to write home about. She was so lovable and likable and smart and sensitive and vaguely fragile that her mom and stepdad worried about her, were afraid that she would be hurt or make the wrong choice because they knew that underneath her confident exterior was a little girl who wanted to be loved, who liked attention, who wasn’t afraid to compete and bend the rules. All little girls want to be loved, of course. But people were drawn to Maya. And her parents worried that this might include people who would take advantage of Maya’s beauty and goodness and spark. Not everybody’s good. Not even in Maya’s world.

So Maya turned nine years old. Her family sang to her and she received gifts and attention and even more love. Ben and Jerry licked her face and wagged their tails even more than usual when they saw her on birthday morning. She smiled her megawatt smile and thanked people without being told to and generally proved over and over again why people were lucky to know her. And at one point during the day, everybody – her mom, her brother Bryant, her sisters Nikita and Devina, her stepdad and even the dogs, we think – took a moment to be thankful that someone so magical, so different, so special and striking, so beautiful inside and out, was in their family.

Happy birthday, Monkey.