Editor’s Note: We’re digging into our ample archives to find some great articles you might have missed over the years. This one comes from 2013.
One thing my family loves about living in New York City is the diversity and the “melting pot” promise of the city. We want our kids to grow up in this sort of cultural and economic diversity. But even in this vibrant, libel city, my skin color still has the ability to raise an eyebrow. Almost on a daily basis. Like all the times people think I’m the kids’ manny.
We are a multicultural family. I am an Indian American. My parents emigrated from India almost 50 years ago, long before I was born. My wife is a home-grown American – for lack of a better phrase. Her lineage includes Irish, Native American, German and probably a few more.
We have two daughters: a 4- and a 10-month-old. Sadly for me, but fortunately for them, they look nothing like me. I don’t mean that they resemble my wife more than me on a sliding scale. I mean that they look nothing like me.
As an Indian American, my complexion is dark. I have brown eyes and dark hair, well, I did before going bald. Our oldest daughter, on the other hand, is a result of a chuckle that her genetic makeup decided to have on me. She is stunning. I am her dad and I am supposed to think that, I know. But she is. She has blonde hair, striking blue eyes and an extremely slight olive tint to her skin. She looks nothing like me. Our younger daughter does have dark hair but sports a bluish-green eye color to die for. She has a similar skin tone to her sister. I’m a lucky Dad with a lifetime of stress and worry ahead of me!
Family and friends throw me a bone every now and then and claim to see some physical feature that resembles me in the girls. It’s nice of them to try.
Neither manny nor adbuctor
Given the extreme disparity of my appearance with my older daughter, I would often (and still do) get looks of interest, confusion, and sometimes even concern. The looks often made me feel as if I needed to justify my relationship to my daughter in public. I’ve been asked directly if she was my daughter by perfect strangers. My daughter, being an extremely bright and observant girl, became conscious of this tension with no provocation. At 2 years old, in response to a quizzical look, she grabbed my leg in a crowded elevator and declared loudly, “This is my Daddy!” Admittedly, I quietly loved this. She got to the point that she would scream this declaration to every stranger that dared to look at us.
One time, close to her third birthday, I was bringing her home from a friend’s house a little too close to dinner time. On the walk to the subway, she began to melt down and cry for her mommy. The tantrum began to escalate and I picked her up to get on the subway quickly. A concerned passerby actually followed us for about four blocks out of concern for her. It wasn’t until my daughter finally spat out, “Daddy, I want to go home,” in her tantrum that the person actually turned around and left.
I suppose I should have felt a bit thankful that a perfect stranger was trying to ensure the safety of my daughter. I’d certainly want that should she actually be in a situation that required help. In reality, I was mildly offended at the assumption that she could not possibly be my child.
I don’t appear to get as many looks with my younger daughter, I think as a result of her dark hair. Regardless, as my girls get older, I find myself less and less conscious of the looks I receive with them. I do find myself occasionally fighting off the urge to yell at all the moms at that park, “No. I am not the manny! I’m their father thankyouverymuch!”
Thus, even in a city as diverse and incredible as New York, you really never know what sort of family you will run into. We certainly have all kinds. I think to some degree we all try to fit people into molds that are comfortable to us. I think it’s natural and I am sure I have done it myself. My own experience has taught me to take the extra conscious effort to make no assumptions and remind myself how amazingly different our families can be.
Photo: © zinkevych / Adobe Stock.
Leave a Reply