The Birth of a Princess: Advice to My Aunt
My younger sister was the first person whose birth and childhood I experienced. Being the first born into my family in over a decade, she was always surrounded. It wasn't just attention she gained, it was respect. Not one person dared baby-talk her. Her presents consisted of something more intellectually stimulating than a stuffed bear. Whenever she asked why, we answered her directly and wisely.
It wasn't about maturing quickly or striving for perfection, it was believing her age should not exclude her from understanding about life. I believe innocence should be protected for as long as it can - I shelter my siblings more than the average American parent - but even then, protection should not come at the cost of knowledge. Ignorance does not remove the adversity of perseverance or the monstrosity of people. I told Abby everything - the beautiful, the funny, the pain, the truth. She absorbed my lessons like a fire blanket.
As I write this, I laugh at my own naivety. A fire blanket can put out only external fires. I thought educating her was enough to protect her from being gullible or belittled. It isn't. I think I subconsciously knew that, but hoped that if she knew about the world she was flying through, she'd be able to harness more control of herself. Yet, while ideas are powerful, physical manifestations of human limitations can undermine other strengths in the eyes of a child. She understood the mechanics of flight, but the unveiled view of society and people led her to believe she couldn't fly on her own when she was capable all along.
By age one, Abby was speaking in grammatically correct sentences. She knew how to read, write, and add before she entered kindergarten. By then, of course, she was chained by the public school system. She returned home with cuts and bruises because someone didn't like her big brown eyes. I couldn't tell her it gets better because I have those same eyes and she could read their history. She was discouraged from adding in her mind because the teacher felt uncomfortable that she was the only student who didn't depend on her fingers during exams. I couldn't tell her to do what she felt was right because her smile would falter every time she was given a lower grade and all I wanted was to see her happy. She was reprimanded for writing stories with more questions than answers. I could only watch as her gaze dropped from the shifting clouds in the sky to the stones by her shoes.
Mom transferred her to another school after that year. No more crying in the morning about wanting to stay home, no more less-than-10-minute homework assignments, no more lies about sticks and stones. But it's still the same type of people going to public school. She would look over her shoulder as she walked. She refused to pose for pictures. She hated to sleep alone. Why did growing up feel like growing small? I almost lost my sister, my best friend, and my role model to cruelty of people broken by circumstances which lead them to believe the only way to fit in is to break everyone around them, and a system which turns a blind eye because it's financially easier to pity than help. I almost lost her, until Nico was born.
My little brother arrived during the crossfires of my mother's life. He was a source of financial strain, the subject behind most family arguments, and the reason for so many nights of broken sleep. He was also the one who renewed our vigor to fight for better, taught us what it means to be loyal, and encouraged us to evaluate what we're doing at this moment and in the future. It is without a doubt he gave us hope and glued the part of the family that matters back together. Sure, the cracks are still visible, but covering them up is like denying it happened. We won't because we're grateful for everything and everyone that shaped us into who we are. More importantly, we learned how to repair ourselves in the prospect of more cracks, unlike other families who shatter at the tremor of one. I'm not talking about the placebo of a band-aid.
I'm especially thankful to have Abby and Nico. My parents and Danny, too, of course, but with a different caliber. I don't know why I am lucky enough to know Abby and Nico, but I'm not questioning it.
As Kurt Vonnegut wrote, "Here we are, trapped in the amber of the moment. There is no why."
To my aunt, who gave birth to her second child yesterday: congrats! The baby is adorable and already being treated like a princess. I can't wait to sing her lullabies, share with her the mysteries of the brain, and rant to her about the innovations in technology. It is because I want the most joy for her that I offer you this advice. You're strong and brave, but remember that you can't foresee everything. Plan as best you can, but the best aid is character. When she's ready to walk, you need to trust that you did a good enough job for her to take a step without your hands. And when she falls - and she will fall - offer her your hand so she's know you're there for her, but let her use her own strength to pull herself up so she knows she's strong enough. Be her Nico - a constant reminder of the humanity in people and the importance of fighting for a future worth living in. At the same time, let her be her own person and decide her own future. Remember: as she's your daughter, she's also a cousin, a sister, a niece, and a granddaughter. The entire family is looking forward to witnessing her milestones.
It wasn't about maturing quickly or striving for perfection, it was believing her age should not exclude her from understanding about life. I believe innocence should be protected for as long as it can - I shelter my siblings more than the average American parent - but even then, protection should not come at the cost of knowledge. Ignorance does not remove the adversity of perseverance or the monstrosity of people. I told Abby everything - the beautiful, the funny, the pain, the truth. She absorbed my lessons like a fire blanket.
As I write this, I laugh at my own naivety. A fire blanket can put out only external fires. I thought educating her was enough to protect her from being gullible or belittled. It isn't. I think I subconsciously knew that, but hoped that if she knew about the world she was flying through, she'd be able to harness more control of herself. Yet, while ideas are powerful, physical manifestations of human limitations can undermine other strengths in the eyes of a child. She understood the mechanics of flight, but the unveiled view of society and people led her to believe she couldn't fly on her own when she was capable all along.
By age one, Abby was speaking in grammatically correct sentences. She knew how to read, write, and add before she entered kindergarten. By then, of course, she was chained by the public school system. She returned home with cuts and bruises because someone didn't like her big brown eyes. I couldn't tell her it gets better because I have those same eyes and she could read their history. She was discouraged from adding in her mind because the teacher felt uncomfortable that she was the only student who didn't depend on her fingers during exams. I couldn't tell her to do what she felt was right because her smile would falter every time she was given a lower grade and all I wanted was to see her happy. She was reprimanded for writing stories with more questions than answers. I could only watch as her gaze dropped from the shifting clouds in the sky to the stones by her shoes.
Mom transferred her to another school after that year. No more crying in the morning about wanting to stay home, no more less-than-10-minute homework assignments, no more lies about sticks and stones. But it's still the same type of people going to public school. She would look over her shoulder as she walked. She refused to pose for pictures. She hated to sleep alone. Why did growing up feel like growing small? I almost lost my sister, my best friend, and my role model to cruelty of people broken by circumstances which lead them to believe the only way to fit in is to break everyone around them, and a system which turns a blind eye because it's financially easier to pity than help. I almost lost her, until Nico was born.
My little brother arrived during the crossfires of my mother's life. He was a source of financial strain, the subject behind most family arguments, and the reason for so many nights of broken sleep. He was also the one who renewed our vigor to fight for better, taught us what it means to be loyal, and encouraged us to evaluate what we're doing at this moment and in the future. It is without a doubt he gave us hope and glued the part of the family that matters back together. Sure, the cracks are still visible, but covering them up is like denying it happened. We won't because we're grateful for everything and everyone that shaped us into who we are. More importantly, we learned how to repair ourselves in the prospect of more cracks, unlike other families who shatter at the tremor of one. I'm not talking about the placebo of a band-aid.
I'm especially thankful to have Abby and Nico. My parents and Danny, too, of course, but with a different caliber. I don't know why I am lucky enough to know Abby and Nico, but I'm not questioning it.
As Kurt Vonnegut wrote, "Here we are, trapped in the amber of the moment. There is no why."
To my aunt, who gave birth to her second child yesterday: congrats! The baby is adorable and already being treated like a princess. I can't wait to sing her lullabies, share with her the mysteries of the brain, and rant to her about the innovations in technology. It is because I want the most joy for her that I offer you this advice. You're strong and brave, but remember that you can't foresee everything. Plan as best you can, but the best aid is character. When she's ready to walk, you need to trust that you did a good enough job for her to take a step without your hands. And when she falls - and she will fall - offer her your hand so she's know you're there for her, but let her use her own strength to pull herself up so she knows she's strong enough. Be her Nico - a constant reminder of the humanity in people and the importance of fighting for a future worth living in. At the same time, let her be her own person and decide her own future. Remember: as she's your daughter, she's also a cousin, a sister, a niece, and a granddaughter. The entire family is looking forward to witnessing her milestones.
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| Abby and her newborn cousin, 2/1/14 |
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