My son is darker skinned than the rest of us, that doesn’t necessarily mean he isn’t my husbands child. If you have ever seen my husband you’d know that he is very white, he is the white man’s, white man, and that’s…ok. But I have this friend, and you know who you are, her initials are Tracy Anderson, but we like to call her Anna Nicole:) Anyway, this friend likes to call my son Owen Redcorn, because she thinks I must have my very own Native American masseur and licensed new age healer. John Redcorn is a character from King of the Hill and if you’ve never seen it, go out and rent it, Hank will make you laugh until shite yourself and if you don’t it’s because the show is actually about you. In that case, forget I said anything. But I digress, Owen has a great complexion and we all think he is a super cute guy who must have gotten his coloring from my Granny, Mary Madison, who was a full blooded native american from the Nez Perce tribe. Now, having said all that, I have to tell you what our neighbor Abby said this morning.
Abby came over to play while mommy went to work, so we were having fun playing and doing toddler stuff when out of nowhere Abby asks me, “Is Owen black or white?” Which is funny because I didn’t even realize she knew the difference, but she is a pretty smart cookie so I just went with it and responded, “Owen is white honey.” I typically don’t refer to Caucasian and African America people using the color-wheel, but this is what kids understand, so white it was. Now I’m paranoid, if a toddler can tell that my son looks darker than us what are my neighbors thinking? Am I a real live Nancy Gribble? Do people whisper and assume that there was a “John Redcorn” in my life? I hope not, let’s just call this clearing the record.
Needless to say we had a fun morning and Emerie very much enjoyed Abby. I had to talk Emerie through many difficult sharing episodes but she managed to pull it off. One particular time while she and Abby were having a tea party I held up a little plastic pink cup and said, “Let’s have a toast”, she looked at me intently and said, “No mommy, it’s tea!” I asked her to smile with her cup for a picture, she stated there was no more tea, and said, “The tea party is over!” She pulled her things together and laid over them so we couldn’t enjoy anymore imaginary refreshments. That’s the last time I have a tea party with a toddler!
One last thing, the other night we went out for supper at “The Corner Cafe” in Liberty. Country food, really yummy, not very good for you but great nonetheless. The restaurant has lots of memorabilia on the walls, antiques etc. Well, there is this old Indian man carved out of wood. Owen keeps stretching out his arms to the life like figurine and Stephan casually tells me he is going to take Owen over there to see it. Next thing I know Stephan makes a beeline back over to me, has Owen in his arms and is laughing, I say, “What’s wrong?” to which he replies, “I took him over there and he started calling that thing Daddy”…