Dear Miley,

I’m old enough to be your mother, honey, and I was there when your father’s achy breaky heart made him famous when you were just a twinkle in his eye.  While I don’t watch you or your alter ego, Hannah Montana, my children do.  My own daughter is your age.

For the life of me, I can’t wrap my brain around a $4,000 ticket to your concert.  I know that’s on the high side, but I still don’t understand $214 tickets, either.  Of course, you can’t help any of that–it’s a supply and demand thing, and apparently you have legions of insane fans.  More likely, your fans have insane parents.

You’re coming under scrutiny by Consumer Reports for not wearing a seatbelt and broadcasting that for squillions of adoring movie-goers to emulate, but I’m sure that was just a one-time occurrence.

When your parents named you Destiny Hope, they saw great things for your future.  How could I not love you for assuming your nickname, though, because you smiled so much as a youngster??  That’s the best.nickname.EVAH.!

I pray for you, sweetie.  I pray that you’ll continue to be a role model and inspire little girls everywhere.  That you won’t get married one minute, then divorced, then married, then divorced, and have children in between, and and shave your head and party til the cows come home and flash crotch shots at the paparazzi for God and your mama and your daddy and everybody else in the world to see.

But mostly I’m writing to say I think you’re a pretty neat kid.  Dressed beyond your years in a white Celine sheath dress and Sergio Rossi stilettos at the Grammy’s this year, you had the nerve to say this when asked about guys and dating and Valentine’s Day:

“There’s only three guys that I love right now, and that’s Jesus, my brothers, and my dad.”

You, my dear, ARE destined for great things for a long…long time.

Don’t ever change, okay?




Photo credit here.

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