When people say that your kid is just like you, usually it’s meant as a friendly joke. Like, haha, you have to deal with what the rest of us always have to deal with. Even your own parents will go so far as to wish for you a child just like yourself so that you can suffer similarly to how you’ve made your own parents suffer.
It’s like the trickle-down economy of parental karma or something.
In all the moments this gentle joke been made about me and my own daughter, never did I feel malice or cruelty behind the words; however, they’ve always still managed to pluck at the threads of my insecurities. I’m always internally questioning, is that a good thing or a bad thing?
I deal with a good bit of anxiety, some of which is baseless. I own that. My anxiety over whether or not I’m enough is ironically based deep within the many times in my life that I’ve been told I’m too much. Literally. Those words have often been used to describe me, to my own face, that I once considered getting it tattooed somewhere large and unavoidable on my body. Parents, classmates, teachers…over and over in life I have been reminded that somewhere below what makes me me is a calmer, more palatable me whom people would generally prefer.
And, yeah, when I was a kid or a teenager, that was probably obnoxious to deal with. But I couldn’t help it. I wanted to be involved in life! People needed help, philosophies needed discussing, points needed to be proven, ideas needed to be tested and explored! How could no one else feel the vibrations of the universe calling out for more of our involvement?! It was suffocating at times to be told to stow all that away, to pretend I didn’t feel the earth’s palpitating rhythm, or, worse, to be told to try and ignore it.
I admit that I tried to quell the calls to action. I often failed, but in so doing I grew to adulthood as an exuberant but tempered person who could maneuver through most social interactions without making a total fool of myself.
And then I had a daughter. Who is, as they say, just like me. And that terrifies me.
Currently, my girl is navigating the soul-crushing world of 6th grade. Middle school: the primordial goop that caterpillars devolve into before they can further fully evolve into beautiful, winged creatures who brighten up our sunny days and dreamy nights.
She entered 6th grade prepared to be called out for her differences – primarily noticeable: her very short, rainbow-dyed hair. And if there’s one thing middle schoolers hate more than, well, school, it’s confident individuality. She encountered her fair share of jerks and has learned to do her best to fly below the radar as much as possible. Not hiding, per se, but trying to steer clear of those who would go out of their way to make another person feel bad.
This brings us to today. My daughter rides the bus with a boy who has picked on her since 1st grade. This kid may have some home-life issues and their interactions have never escalated so whenever he throws some words her way, she usually just does her best to ignore him. Until today.
According to her, this boy was mouthing off to the bus driver today, not for the first time, and she had had enough. She tells me that she stood up and yelled at him to cut it out because he wouldn’t like it if someone were to do that to him. Story goes that he told her to sit down and mind her own business, which she normally would have just done, but instead that is when she erupted. She said she was yelling at him for always trying to bring people down all the time and that he needed to stop being so mean and a bunch of other stuff that I cannot specifically remember. And then…the people on the bus clapped.
She had a total teeny-bopper, nerd-gets-applauded-for-taking-down-the-jerk-kid-in-a-movie moment and I thought it was the most amazing thing I had ever heard about in my life!
And then she said, “well, that’s how you raised me. I was raised to stick up for myself and to stick up for other people. You and daddy taught me to be this way.”
And THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is truly the most amazing thing I had ever heard in my entire life. She was so proud of herself, and a bit surprised by her public bravado as well, but she was visibly thrumming from adrenaline and the surety of knowing she did the right thing (yay for video chatting) and she was grateful to her father and I for showing her this way of life. I am … stunned.
My girl is loud, and cooky, and mouthy, and she often pushes the limits of appropriateness. She argues everything and refuses to ever back down without irrefutable proof that she is wrong (and sometimes not even then). She cares A LOT. She’s not the type to just sit down and shut up.
She’s too much. She’s extra. And I consider it an honor when people say that she’s just like me.
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