As a parent we all want what's best for our kids, right? We try to teach them to be tolerant of others at all times, right?
Take the other day, for example, we were in the local Burger King when my daughter spotted a kid not much older than her, on a scooter, with a false leg. Not a flesh coloured one either. A metal one. She thought it was fascinating, and couldn't stop staring. The boy carried on scooting past us not seeming to care. Which is good, you are what you are, right? I told her not to keep staring as this is considered rude.
There's a black girl in her class at school. She's picked on non stop by certain classmates, her mother is always at the school having words with the teachers and told me that (thankfully) my daughter wasn't one of the culprits. I taught her better, I like to think. This girl is one of her friends. But she has asked me in the past;
"Why is her skin a different colour to mine?"
"Why is she always getting into trouble for sticking up for herself?"
I told her that this particular girl will probably grow up to be another Beyonce and the haters will be kicking themselves. People who suffer at the hands of others often remember those who are nice to them in their dark hours.
Then there's my husband's friend with the missing finger. She spotted that before I did! We all have our little quirks and differences, that's what I'm trying to say. I just take people at 'face value' myself, if you are nice to me, then I will be nice back. I don't care if you're black, white, yellow, brown, pink or purple. It's your attitude towards others that counts.
I don't understand bullies. What's the point? If you're a bad person Karma will eventually come knocking on your door to have a word.
I reminded my kid that she has a scar on her head from her operation as a toddler but you can barely see that because her hairline hides it pretty well, and if she doesn't mention it, no one would even know it's there. But that's what makes her unique. She doesn't have to explain herself to anyone if she chooses not to do. Every scar tells a story, and this scar is hers. If she wants to tell it to her friends she can, but nobody gives her any nonsense about it.
See? We all have our little quirks and differences and one minute I'm telling her that we're all "different" in our own special way, but at the same time we're "all the same".
No wonder she's confused!
"We all bleed the same colour" is what I've settled on saying now, and I hope my girls will grow up to be tolerant and understanding to all.