“Most of the kids match,” my daughter announced proudly.
I felt a flicker of tension as I sat in my small chair, my hands tightening around my cup of chai, curious to see if she would elaborate. A group of fourteen little ones gathered at the preschool snack table, their attention scattered as they focused on their piles of raisins and crackers.
“Most of” struck me as a complicated concept. Their minds develop so rapidly, absorbing complexity as easily as they inhale air. I can see their thoughts evolve, much like bread rising in the oven.
“Most of the kids are wearing peach. We match. And Mia matches Teacher Eliza.”
Mia quickly chimed in, “I match mommy’s eyes!”
This has been a recurring theme in our household over the past couple of months. As they become aware of colors and features, they grapple with the ideas of similarity and difference. Our skin tones diverge. Our eye colors converge. Mia’s mother is a different shade than I am.
I find myself conflicted by her desire to mirror me. Over three years, we’ve put in tremendous effort to bond as a family. My connection to her as her mother is profound, yet they remain simple, tactile beings. She seeks tangible proof of our connection, wanting to belong through fabrics, colors, and shared traits. Abstract concepts like love and attachment don’t suffice. They crave the visible and the physical. Mia’s hair resembles Daddy’s. My eyes are like Mia’s.
I encourage her gently while concealing my concerns. My worries stem from the adult world. I understand that she will need an identity that embraces her Afro-Caribbean heritage and her beautiful brown skin as she grows. I worry that her longing to match her white mother instead of her African American teacher might signal an internalization of society’s flawed messages about beauty. That fair skin is desirable. That different is undesirable.
But not yet. I feel reassured for now. She tells me she feels pretty. She beams when I style her hair, eagerly asking to see the result. In this moment, I see a child exploring her place within our family, not a child rejecting her appearance.
The preschoolers glanced my way, sticky fingers poised with raisins.
“I don’t match,” I reminded my daughter, “My skin is olive. Mia’s eyes are the same as mine, but her skin is a lovely chocolate like Teacher Eliza. Each of us is unique. Who else has brown eyes?”
Four hands shot up. “I have blue eyes!” piped a cute little blonde.
“Exactly! Who else has blue eyes?” We continued comparing. Liam boasts green eyes like Daddy.
“But you’re the only one with red hair,” I chimed in, “We’re all different, yet we all belong.”
Just like that, the moment passed. Their attention shifted to a spilled cup of water and dwindling snack supplies. Teacher Sarah led them to the Rainbow Room, where Mia’s Grandpa, an entomologist, was ready to show off his massive Australian leaf bugs. They’re fascinating! The largest one even laid an egg on his hand! The children were captivated by bugs for days, but I know the topic will arise again. I can tell it’s on their minds due to how it resurfaces in our conversations about matching, our skin, our eyes.
This discussion is straightforward for them since they are easily satisfied. The more challenging questions lie ahead.
I yearn to impart my wisdom to her. You are breathtaking. You are one of a kind. Resist the pressures around you, those with their airbrushed images and manufactured ideals. Don’t equate beauty with perfection. There is no single look, hair color, body shape, or outfit that guarantees happiness. True happiness comes from a loving family. It’s about friends who share laughter into the night. It’s about finding your passion, tracing ancient carvings with your fingers, pouring your heart into something, even if it means finishing second. It’s in every hug and the way your grandmother’s eyes light up when she meets your child.
Happiness is unpredictable. It requires effort.
If you try desperately to change yourself through trends, diets, or any artificial means, it will always elude you.
She is still too young for these words. I know that. But I pen them down for her future. You cannot gauge the weight of someone’s heart by their appearance, my dear. Many petite blondes cry themselves to sleep at night. Redheads worldwide battle distorted images of beauty.
We are all different. Yet, we share the same essence.
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In summary, our children’s journey to understanding identity and beauty is complex. They seek connections that are tangible and visible, and as parents, we must guide them through the maze of societal pressures while celebrating their unique qualities.