Ok, so I live under a rock. Honestly, I live in this little sheltered world of my own rather oblivious to the daily goings on of the world around me. Sometimes, when people tell me a joke or refer to something, I just don’t get it. Sometimes, the meaning will come to me, eventually weeks later. About the third time, someone asked me if my daughter was mixed, it finally came to me what they meant. It happened over a period of about six months. Three different black women, who I only see on Tuesdays during the school year, asked me if my daughter is mixed.

The first time one of the women asked me if she was mixed, I was surprised. I answered that she was, yet I remained perplexed. I thought to myself, do they think she is Caucasian with her tanned skin and eyes as black as a moonless night.

I know, you are probably already thinking, dahhhh. Obviously, they were wondering if she was part Caucasian. I guess the only initial indicator of her mixed heritage is her hair. While it is black, it has beautiful loose curls, light tones, and a fine, silky texture.

When she was about four months old, Super Dad and I were out shopping, and she was with us. We were chatting with the cashier about being older parents and having a child who is younger than our granddaughter is. The cashier laughed and then commented that she has heard of that happening to other couples our age. We still laugh about that sometimes because we are both Caucasian and neither of us even has olive colored skin.

Many people have asked me if she is my daughter and comment on how beautiful she is. Her eyelashes are so long that they touch her eyebrows when she opens her eyes wide. When makes her eyes big with excitement, giggles, and wiggles her legs in excitement she is so cute.

The photo was taken of her after she had a piece of Lane’s birthday cake. She actually smeared the whip cream frosting herself. She frequently makes our family laugh, you can see why. We are so lucky to have her for our daughter.

Photo Credit Julia Fuller 2007