This was originally published in 2017, but it most certainly has a different meaning now.
So, I’ve been meaning to share a couple things with you guys.
First of all, I told my little brothers about this blog, and they think it’s cool, which means it’s cool. They are pretty much my spirit guides. I can’t wait to thank them on a huge stage in front of a roaring crowd of people one day. I don’t know any other people who are as honest with me about my work. My big brother Rohan is up there, but Anthony and Jason just get me. It matters.
Okay. I went into Ross the other day. Tuesday, I think it was. I’ve been in a funk. Marriage is hard sometimes. Thought I would go into one of the busiest, unorganized, havens of miscellaneous stuff in order to do some retail therapy and just clear my mind. Crazy places like that are perfect for me, because my mind looks just like your average Ross, Marshall’s, TJ Maxx or Big Lots. The only thing better than that kind of chaos is a shower.
So, I’m in the store and Levi is playing with wind chimes, yelling, and knocking things down. We are having a blast. I get to the section with the rugs and decide I need one. I’m standing there trying to figure out if I want a navy blue one with a white swirly pattern, or a navy blue one with thin, periwinkle stripes when Levi’s babbling gets the attention of an older lady nearby. She sidles up to us and asks how old he is. I tell her. All of a sudden, a storm cloud forms over her head.
“Don’t have a girl. They are trouble.”
I say, “that’s what I keep hearing.” “
It’s true,” she says, shaking her head.
“My son is an attorney, and he is doing well. Has his stuff together. That daughter of mine-“
She lets out a guffaw, and immediately I am sad for her daughter, never having seen her a day in my life. I grab one of the rugs and use my body to tell her I am finished talking. She says a warm, grandmotherly goodbye to Levi, and I go over to the part of the store where there are mounds of hapless toys looking like they know they are the dregs of toy society and will only be bought hastily on the way to a birthday party. I stop to think about what the stranger said.
I am guilty of hating girls up until maybe about five years ago. I stopped hating them because I found some I like. Weird ones with big hair that wear Doc Martens and opaque tights, and lots of bangles and dreadlocks and too much lipstick who eat with their hands and emote with all their limbs. Girls who think like me, and love even harder than I do.
I don’t particularly love the little ones. They have lots of attitude, yet cry over every little thing. The older ones I can deal with once I understand them on a personal level. They are hard to be around without breaks though.
I am assuming having a daughter can be hard on a woman for many reasons. You know the things she will fall for, and there is that whole pesky adolescent phase where she may become a dumping ground for boys. Some women are jealous of their daughters and everything they are. Prettier, smarter, more daring. I can’t lie, I was overjoyed when I learned Levi was a boy. They are more fun to be around. My sisters are cool, but sooooo dramatic. My brothers like to eat and talk about rap music. They don’t gossip, or wallow in self-pity because they have gained weight.
I know for sure my next child will be a girl. I am looking forward to helping her become a woman whose company I enjoy. If not, I’ll just kick it with her dad.
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