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Thursday
Sep102009
Or slugs; sometimes she rescues them too
September 10, 2009 
"Mama," she calls from the next room where she is busily combing her My Little Pony's hair. "What does a comb do, anyway?"
I laugh to myself as I pour my coffee. "It takes the knots out," I say.
"Oh," she says, and her voice sounds disappointed. "I thought it made your hair longer."
*
She is five years old and doesn't know what a comb is for. It's all you can expect, really, from a little girl who has had dreadlocks since she was two. I combed and braided her hair until I had an operation to remove a tumor in my neck. Coming home from the hospital I couldn't face the snarl that her hair had become during my recovery, and thus began the beautiful dreadlocks of the YaYa sister.
I didn't teach her about the use of a comb because I figured it was obvious. It wasn't obvious, as it turns out.
We don't make a big deal about dreadlocks, in our house. Most of our family has them. But we don't have to make a big deal about YaYa's dreadlocks, because practically everyone else does.
*
We are walking down the hill into Baghsu, and YaYa suddenly says, "I want you to be the beautiful one, the most beautiful one in the world! I don't want to be beautiful."
I attempt to digest this. "Why?" I ask.
"Because then no one would talk to me and tell me I'm beautiful. Even when they don't say anything, I can tell that they are talking to each other about me."
The extraordinary thing about this conversation is that YaYa is so completely outside of herself most of the time that I had no idea she even noticed the people pointing at her, talking about her. I knew she dodged many of the reaching fingers aimed at her hair, and declined an answer when people oohed and aahed over her. But she spends most of her time drawing, or running, or climbing, or falling down, or coaxing snails along to places that are safe from our snail-smashing neighbor, or making snakes out of plasticine and curling them up in their nice soft beds. ("Look, Mama!" she said, the other day. "This one is a teenager snake and it's bigger than it's Mama!") She also loves to crack eggs, peel garlic, and make her bed. She is the originator of most of the pretend games that are played around here, and if she uses the word beautiful, it's usually to describe a dress or a butterfly.
"Oh YaYa," I said. "You shouldn't wish to be different than you are. The most important things are being kind and polite, anyways." I was being sage. And I know there are many other important things, but I was mainly talking about when she's out in the world, where people point and stare.
"I know, Mama," she said. Not really exasperated, but ten steps ahead of me. "But I can be those things and not be beautiful. I just wish you were the one."
Thinking about it, as we walked along, hand in hand, I realized that she wasn't really talking about beauty. Those are just the words people have used when they've pointed her out. And believe me, there are many, many beautiful little girls in the villages of India. As much as I think YaYa's a stunner, I know that she's a rose in a rose garden.
She was talking about attention, about being different. She would like to shift it to me, someone bigger and stronger in her life.
This is one thing I can't do for her, though. I can't shift attention from her to me. She will always be different, no matter where we live. And it's good for her to be among the people of India, so kind to children. She is not teased for being different. But she will have to learn how to bear attention, to take on its weight and then smile and shrug it off.
It was a small moment, this little conversation of ours, and the monkeys on the road soon drove it out of our heads, but it showed me that she is paying attention, and that she notices. I can't take the strain of being noticed away from my daughter, but she is always welcome to turn and meet my eyes when it is becoming a bit much. We can make a quick exit, the two of us, and go and rescue some snails.
Reader Comments (20)
What a lucky child YaYa is. I mean that with all the sincerity in my heart.
so sweet!! I love this post! Happy aniversary Rae! I miss you
Well, there you go again. You have me all teary. YaYa is a blessed little girl to have a wise and listening mama like you. And I know you are blessed to have such an insightful and pure-hearted daughter. Blessings to you all!
I am always amazed at how intensely close you to each and every child of yours and each one has its very own distinctive, kind, adorable character. Yet it all blends within all of you. I think it's magic.
What a brilliant little girl you have there. Her insight at such a young age is stunning.
When I was small, I loved snails too!
One day, my mom and I were house shopping and we visited one 'covered' in snails!
I made sure my mom knew I wanted THAT one!
I love that she gets to grow up somewhere that brown faces are common. Sometimes when I go to a big city - like NYC once, I felt a culture shock to see so many other people who looked like me on the outside.
Her reaction to this situation has stopped me. I would never have guessed that a small person would feel this way about people stopping and seeing her beauty. So much to learn.
Sometimes the outside of us is just too much responsiblity, that's why we have Mama's.
I can't tell you how many years I've spent telling my children that everyone is different. Now I see that what I really meant was: beautiful. Everyone is beautiful.
Dear YaYa.
Beautiful post!
I love this post. Sometimes i, too, long to be hidden, to not stand out. After 2 years in Mauritania we went to France, and I was so happy walking along the street, completely anonymous--until I opened my mouth, no one knew I wasn't French. I watched a Muslim woman walking along the street--there, she was the one who stood out, and I could see in her posture how she felt about it.
My kids have had to deal with it in their own ways, especially my blond daughter, who got marriage proposals from age 4 onwards. It takes grace to learn to be the different one.
I love every bit of this post. If I could, I would pick this post up and cuddle it and give it a kiss on each cheek.
Oh, and the PHOTO!! I want to put that photo in my pocket and take it with me everywhere I go.
lovely. :)
Oh her heart! How lovely is it?
Wow I would never have realized that YaYa feels that way. It is wonderful that she shared that with you and you were able to talk some of that through with her. Your response was good, about what was really important! I miss her!
All teary eyed as I sit holed up in my retreat on the hill. Great response, wonderful child.
Rae, usually I don't let myself read the latest post until I've read everything I've missed in order. I'm some kind of blog pharisee. (I mean that in the Timothy Craig sense. Is that a slur? If so that Timothy shoulda really watched his mouth. Shoot.) Anyway, I'm glad I let myself lapse on this one since I'm up to my elbows in reading on justice issues for a paper. That post is a gem among gems Rae. A real doozy of wisdom and life and oh sweet YaYa. Bless that child to not want to hide from all the attention, bless that child to not give undue weight to it. Thanks Rae!!
This is exquisite, wise and true. So happy to have found you (again) via a comment Bethany (Coffee Stained Clarity) left on my blog...
You are a good mama and your children will be strong and beautiful, always.
But I understand YaYa.
Having lost 45 pounds in a yearlots of people "gush" all over me. Stop and point. Say things like, "You are such an inspiration!"
UGH! I want to hide, runaway. And just do my thing with a camera, run, play in the dirt and go un-noticed.
But, I, too am learning to take the attention and shrug it off. Not always easy.
I need to come-up with ways to accept the praise and keep it real. Down to earth, real. Not put me on a pedestal-like--I hate that.
I've got tears in my eyes too. You write so beautifully...you articulate my life that I find hard to express...and that's what writers do. Keep writing sister!!