Jumping Rope

This morning, per Cocoa‘s request, I style her hair in Princess Leia buns. Sighing, she asks, "Is our family normal?" I chuckle because I don't think most moms get the request for a Science Fiction character hairstyle to wear to school on an ordinary Wednesday. But then again, they probably do in this particular Geekdom. She gives me the "it's not funny glare" and my heart sinks. She has a serious reason to ask this.

Because of where I grew up, I worry about the old stigma of an interracial/multicultural family, but assure myself that this can't be the case because a lot of children who she goes to school with are from multiracial/ethnic families. I worry about her having to deal with a parent who had a terminal illness and the chance of it coming back always looming over her head. I worry about how her father and I come from a different socio-economic background than most of her classmate’s parents. I worry about all the quirky things that I love about our family and all the things we’ve had to endure that has made us stronger but…not normal, in the sense that our family is not typical and has made her feel different, isolated somehow.

Instead of answering as if one of these fears has been implied, I go to the mother’s standby, “What do you think normal is?” She is silent for a moment. “I mean everyone looks different but they do things the same. Does our family do things the same way as everyone else?”  “Oh sweetie,” I say, “no two families do everything the same way.” “But we must to do things differently. At recess everyone else jump ropes in place perfectly.”

I let out a-great-big-are-you-fucking-kidding-me?-Is-that-all?-sigh of relief.  “Honey, you have a jump rope at home just like they do. You choose to use yours to tie your doll’s car to your scooter to give them a ride or to lasso a branch and use it at as a swing for your dolls. I assume they choose to use theirs as a…well… jump rope. All jumping rope well takes is practice. You could practice jumping rope and soon you’ll be as good at it as they are….but only practice it if you want to, not to be like everyone else.” I place the last pins in her buns and kiss the top of her head, our signal that I’m done with her hair.

She looks at me and considers what I said. “Nope, I want Rose E. and Pose E. to have fun with me.” Then she hops off the bed and skips away.

Cheers,

Sangria