The Color of My Love

Dora informed me yesterday that she spends a great deal of time wishing she had blue eyes and blonde hair. I was instantly awash with emotion, not knowing which feeling to tackle first. I have purposefully tried to raise my children to be proud of their heritage, and the aesthetic qualities that come with it. I love the depth I see in their dreamy, dark eyes, hers touched with chocolate of the best sort, his with the green of aged sea glass. I get lost in the endlessness of her curls, and the way that the sunlight picks up flecks of gold in his hair. I adore that they bake brown in the summertime, never having to endure the bouts of lobster red sunburn suffering that I did as a pasty kid. They got their daddy’s skin, thank God. I constantly tell them how beautiful they are to me, hoping that one of those times will stick. I know that historically the media, as well as the film industry (especially Disney) has catered to the fair-haired and light of eye, only recently adding some gutsy raven-haired heroines to the animated mix. Thank you, Walt, wherever you are.

This is not a new issue for me, as I remember, long before having children, wanting to make sure that I passed along my love of beauty in all shapes and colors to my brood. My son was around 8 months old when I first took him to a local toy store to let him pick out a bauble that grabbed not only his attention, but his heart as well. Nothing fancy, just something that made him smile. How happy was I when he reached for a beautiful, soft baby doll, skin the color of a hot mocha, black curls streaming down her tiny cloth shoulders. I bought it without hesitation, happy that my infant saw beauty in every shade, and especially proud that it was in the form of a baby doll. (Yes, I believe we teach them these preferences, or prejudices, depending which side you happen to identify with.)

To this day, I shout aloud the praises of those that favor my own personal princess, desiring that the approval she sees in my eyes and hears in my voice will somehow hit close to her home. I pray that I can continue to help her understand that her beauty does not have to be light nor dark, blue or brown, tall or short, thin or not so much. I constantly search for those words that convey the timeless story of that pure beauty singing inside her. My hope is that she recognizes and proudly embraces her song, sharing that perfect and personal melody with the world.