My daughter, My self

I grew up the oddball in my family in a variety of ways. But probably the most visible of ways was my coloring. I lived with my Irish/German mother, not my Puerto Rican father. I was the brown one in a sea of fair skinned blondes and redheads. I even remember asking my grandmother why I was brown while they all weren't. She replied that I was olive skinned. This was not the answer I wanted to hear. "I am not green," I told her. "I am brown." And as a child was I ever brown. I could tan through my bathing suit and my long black hair and dark brown eyes completed the picture.

As an adult I don't spend that much time in the sun so I am a little lighter than I used to be but I am still pretty brown. The area where I live is very diverse and there are a number of Hispanics living here. People regularly come up to me and start speaking Spanish thinking I will reply. I don't because I suck at languages and don't speak Spanish. But I have gotten used to being one brown person among many. I see young Hispanic girls with long brown hair, dark eyes, and brown skin and I see myself.

I guess I always thought my daughter would look just like that, just like me. More fool me. C is light skinned with blonde hair and light brown eyes that border on hazel from time to time. Where I have thick wavy hair, she has thin straight hair. Instead it is Q who looks like me, with easily tanned skin, dark hair and dark eyes. People like to say that C has my face. Or that she must take after DH. Only DH has lighter skin but also dark brown hair and eyes, like me. C is, for sure, a throwback to that Irish/German part of my family.

Sometimes I look at those little Hispanic girls and they almost seem like a child I thought I would have, but lost. We all picture what we think our children will look like or be like as they grow up. In my research on autism there is often a call to grieve for the child you expected so you can embrace the child you have. But I think that is bigger than just for autism or a disability. How many of us have been expected to look a certain way or act a certain way by our families? They expect a certain thing, a certain person. Sometimes you can be that, but more often than not, you cannot.

In a way it is very good that C doesn't look like I thought she would. This way maybe I can keep in mind that she is her own person, and not just my projection of my daughter. I hope she can always be proud of how she looks, and who she is. Though I know from my experience that how you looks helps to define who you are. It was always an issue for me to accept my Hispanic features. I wonder what C's issues will be. And maybe one day when she has a brown daughter I can laugh as my mother (with her blonde hair) must laugh when she sees C.