One of my favorite memories I have of my son Ian is from when he was about three years old. He and I were baking something in the kitchen which required cinnamon, and as he stirred the ingredients in the bowl my little guy broke into a spontaneous song, a joyous little ditty that went a little something like this:
My skin is brown
My skin is like cinnamon
I am brown
And I am strong
Ian sang these four lines with such gusto and certainty that tears sprang to my eyes. Ian knew he was brown, like his favorite spice, and he felt powerful in his own skin. I will always remember that day, and my goal as his mother is to always help him maintain that joy of self discovery and confidence in his own skin.
Today as I put away groceries with the boys circling my legs, clamoring for snacks, I found a bag at the back of the cupboard with three caramels, one for each of us, a treat we decided to consume immediately. As we enthusiastically unwrapped our caramels, I held mine up to Suki's arm, noting that his skin was the exact brown of our caramels.
With many kisses and tickles, I said "I have a cinnamon son and a caramel son! I could eat you both up!" But Suki immediately asked, "Well, what are you?"
That took some brainstorming, and after discarding many types of wheat based products, Ian settled the matter with some determination, declaring that "Mom is pita bread."
These comparisons may seem simple, but in our family we do acknowledge that our skin is not the same. Yes, we are different from each other. God makes people in all shades of perfect, and on the inside we carry the same love of family in our hearts. Yes, we are a family, full of flavors and textures and colors and love, love, love.
