Big Voice
Last week, during the girls’ spring break, on a perfectly sunny and mild morning, I took a ride with Ellie and Mira to our favorite beach. This time of year, they love to dip their toes in the frigid water and play on the nearly deserted playground. It’s part of our pre-summer ritual that gets us excited about the warm months to come.
After some time on the swings, Mira found a spot in the sand and settled in with a bucket and a shovel, while Ellie dangled off the monkey bars in the distance. I enjoyed the spring sun on a beach towel nearby.
A few minutes later, I saw a little girl make her way over to Mira. She seemed interested in what she was doing and made it known that she wanted to share Mira’s plethora of beach toys. After some playing and exchanged glances, I heard the words that have become all too familiar to me in public settings.
“Why are you so small?”, her innocent, 3- or 4-year-old voice asked.
I so badly wanted to insert myself into this pre-school conversation, but I held my breath just waiting to hear how Mira would respond to the little girl who had asked about her size.
“I have Dwarfism,” Mira replied without missing a beat. And when she picked up on the little girl’s confusion, she added, “It means I’m little and my bones are small.”
“Oh,” said the little girl, continuing to watch Mira fill her bucket with sand, like that explanation was good enough for her, so they continued to play.
No shame. No embarrassment. No offense. Just an observation, and an affirmation. With that confident answer, Mira showed me how to hold on tight to the assurance that everything will be ok, that maybe she’s had this conversation before. Mira’s got this!
My biggest goal as a mother is to instill autonomy, self-respect and strength within our children, in order that they can go out into the world with confidence and a deep sense of who they are.
I know Mira will face all kinds of public reaction to her differences, whether Evan and I are there or not, as people tend to point, stare, and ask questions about her wherever we go. I’m grappling with giving her what often feels like less advocacy, but what I hope will be the best kind of gift: Opportunity.
The opportunity to speak for herself.
The opportunity to explore what grace looks like offered to others who are ignorant about her and others that look different.
The opportunity to use her own words to explain and educate.
We left the beach that day with freshly sun-kissed cheeks and way too much sand in our shoes. More importantly, I left with a beaming sense of pride in our little girl, who is taking on the world with a true sense of self and her own big voice.
