November 21, 2014

Through her eyes

Sometimes I wonder what she thinks. A level and lovely Chinese child with politely reserved eyes and a penchant for stir fry, being raised by a blond and blotchy mother with direct hazel eyes, dry white hands, and buttery food.

And then, I take her to class with me on a drizzly day in November because her dad is out of town and her brothers want to watch Star Wars (and she would rather ride with me through the city on my moped than watch Han Solo flirt with princess Leia one more time), and she takes a picture of me that sort of stops me in my tracks.
When I got home from class that day and looked at this picture she had taken unbeknownst to me, I wondered if perhaps she likes me, really likes me, after all. Maybe she is proud of me for trying to learn the language of her people. Maybe she wants to be like me. Maybe she is glad that I am her mother.

Or maybe she was just fooling with the camera setting on the iPad because she got tired of playing with the Fancy Nancy app.

Either way, I will always treasure this little photo. It is a picture of me through the eyes of my daughter, and I like what she sees.