When my husband said that our first child wasn’t “Aryan” enough, I gave him a reality check. When he said that our daughter wasn’t “European” enough, I realized I had to do something.
I thought I’d gone excessively far, however as I watched his reality fall to pieces, I concocted an arrangement to show him a thing or two. Standing in my living room, I looked at my spouse as if he were new to me.
My world turned on its axis as Peter’s words lingered in the air between us.
“You mean you want another child?
” I asked, trying to keep my voice consistent. You have been distant ever since Amelia was born, and she is only one year old.
Peter moved away from my gaze as he ran his hand through his hair. “Well, Nora, I just hoped that, like my mother and sister, she would turn out pale and blue-eyed.
However, she does not at all resemble my imagined image.
” My jaw dropped open.
Are you serious at this point? ” “No, actually, I don’t know what you mean,” I responded sharply.
“I just thought maybe our second one would look more. .
.
you know, European.
” Care to elaborate? Peter made a nervous move.
Let me say that being Norwegian is an honor for me. I’m afraid that Amelia’s brown appearance will not be tolerated by my family.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
referring to our daughter as if she were a disappointment, even my spouse.
Before I knew it, we were engaged in a heated argument as I started to become enraged. She is our daughter, Peter!
How on earth do you think this way? I screamed.
“I can’t help how I feel!
” he retorted.
I just wanted a child who resembled me! ”
Going back and forth seemed to take us an entire hour. By the time Peter stormed out and slammed the door behind him, I was exhausted, heartbroken, and worn out.
However, as I sat there in the silence, a thought began to emerge.
I called my mother using my phone.
Hi, Mom. Do you have time to watch Amelia in a few days?
Peter must learn something from me. My mother didn’t ask a lot of questions, which is a good thing.
She said nothing more than, “Obviously, honey.
Invite her over when you’re ready.
” I groaned, “Thanks, Mom. ” I promise to explain everything later.
I packed Amelia’s belongings after Peter left for work the next morning. As I zipped up her small luggage, I kept thinking about Peter’s comments.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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