My daughter, my self
The introduction was one – sided; she was asleep. There was no chance for first (and lasting) impressions. I did all the talking and staring. Sometimes I smiled but not for long. I didn’t stay long either; I was still in pain. That was six years ago. And I’m almost tempted to say (or write) ‘how fast they grow’/ ‘how time flies’. Soon we’ll be talking heels and weaves. Idolor and daughters. That’s what’s a close cousin of mine called me back then, and I’d encourage him. It was no secret, I wanted daughters. To do girly things with, to be girly with but more importantly ( and a little selfishly too) to have a little ‘me’. I was curious to see what a younger, female, version of me would turn out to be. Would she have sharper or softer features than me? Would she look exactly like me or not? Understandably, I was very excited when T arrived. Finally, my wish was going to come true. How wrong I was. My first sighting of her (during our first introduction) deflated that excitement like a balloon, with a loud pop. A striking resemblance There was little or nothing in her physical appearance that signalled any similarity to me. All I heard was: ‘She looks like her father.’ ‘Her father’s brother can pass for her father.’ ‘She’s almost the replica of her father’s father.’ Nada of me. Then as though as an afterthought, her skin colour is just about the same shade as mine. Perhaps to appease me, I thought, for carrying her for all those months. It hardly suffices. The facial appearance is almost always the first and strongest reference point for similarity between parents and offspring before other attributes like height, skin colour, weight, etc come into play. And if I thought that she’d change her appearance with time, like most babies do, I was in for a long wait. Her appearance got more pronounced through the years. Beyond the senses ‘She looks like her father but her expressions are her mother’s.’ T couldn’t have been more than”more
Read More