The first few weeks of her life, my daughter looked like no one in particular. She was adorable, of course, but indistinct, like a drawing of someone who doesn’t really exist. Frankly, she could have been the child of any two random, super-sexy white people on earth.
Recently though, with each passing day, she’s beginning to look more and more like someone who could belong to no one but us. It’s easy to point to a nose or an earlobe and claim origin, but it goes beyond that to the point where I now recognize specific expressions and temperaments.
Like my wife, my daughter looks very serious when she’s concentrating. Whether she’s staring at her stuffed giraffe or her own shriveled hand, she appears always to be doing long division. And, also like my wife, she is prone to making a loud public spectacle of herself when she hasn’t eaten for a while.
I’m proud to say that I see a lot of myself there, too. For example, my daughter enjoys being fed by hand, and, like me, she often gets weepy when she’s trying to go to the bathroom.
Seasons Greetings from The Norman Nation.