The day the social worker brought my daughter home, she was
a filthy mess. Her hair was matted and
dirty. She wore a stained, white crop
top with a denim mini skirt. She had on
grungy, white heels that were so high I was surprised she could walk in
them. She looked like a mini hooker but
she was two. I looked at this tiny,
broken child and my heart broke for her. The first thing I did with Alyssa was
get her into a bubble bath and some clean clothes. As a foster parent I had a closet stocked with
various sizes of clothes I might need but I didn’t have any shoes that fit
her. The next day we went shopping for
some age appropriate flats and she never wore heels again until the week before
Christmas.
Many parents think it is cute for little girls to play dress
up in heels or wear the kind of clothes that an older teen might wear. For a
typical child, there’s probably no harm in that. I am personally not a fan of that kind of
wardrobe for a little kid but I would never judge another family’s choice on
the matter. Alyssa has never been
typical though. She understood, even at
that young age, that her value and beauty were intricately linked to her body. She would prance around in a very adult way
looking for reinforcement and would lift her shirt while asking if she was
pretty.
Initially I didn’t know how long Alyssa would be staying
with me but I knew that I wanted to spend whatever time I had teaching her that
her value is not defined by her body. I
bought her outfits that were modest but cute enough that people would stop to
comment about how pretty she was. I
purposefully praised her when she made good choices or figured something
out. It was never about shaming the
behaviors or dress from her previous life; it was all about expanding her
definition of beauty to also include intelligence, compassion and perseverance.
Even after the adoption we have continued working to instill those values.
This year, on Small Business Saturday, I bought Alyssa a
beautiful holiday dress from one of my favorite little shops. She had a lead role in the church Christmas
program as the person holding the letter N in Noel. (Her performance was magical by the
way.) I really meant to find her some
new shoes to go along with the dress since all of the ones I bought in August
are too small now but the chaos of life won out. That’s how I found myself frantically trying
to find dress shoes at one of the two stores in our little town on the Saturday
night before the show. Of course, since I was in a bind there was almost nothing
in her size that wasn’t hot pink or just strange. I finally found a pair of shiny black shoes
with a bow on the toes. The problem was
that they were heals.
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| The heels. |
I stood in the aisle holding those little shoes and flashed back
to the exploited little girl who came home to me four years ago. I tried them
on Alyssa then took them off, disappointed that they fit. When my husband
returned from his wandering, I showed the shoes him, expecting an equally
distraught reaction. I hoped that he
would at least think that she was far too young to be prancing through the
church in half inch heels. Instead he
questioned whether she would fall wearing them.
I explained what the shoes represented but they didn’t mean that to him.
In the end, because there was literally no other option, we
went home with the shoes. I planned to
leave early enough to stop someone in the city on our way to church the next
morning for something, anything, else though.
Unfortunately, I am horrible at mornings and we barely got out of the
house in time for the service. In front of God, my parents and the 100 other
people in the congregation, my little girl stumbled to the stage wearing
heels.
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| My stars: Alyssa and Bradley holding the N and backwards E. |
The performance was fantastic. My kids were off beat but proud. After the service, we had a church potluck
where Alyssa eventually ditched the shoes because she couldn’t run 10 feet in
them without toppling over. In spite of
the dreaded high heels, it was a really good day.
It’s weird how sometimes the things we think represent
everything evil end up being completely benign. Alyssa was no less innocent
wearing heels than she would have been barefoot. (If I wrote a political blog, I could expand
that analogy to many other topics but we’ll stick to shoes for now.) What happened to her was wrong. The path that brought Alyssa to my door that
day is one I wouldn’t wish on anyone. The shoes, as distasteful as they were,
were only bad because I associated them with the people who put them on her.
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| That smile. |
It was easier when she was little and simply wore whatever I
put her in. I bought frilly dresses and
she twirled. I told her she was
beautiful and she believed me. I think
that this is where the real work starts.
I can’t rely on simple rules, like only flat shoes and one piece
swimsuits, to teach her to be the kind of lady I hope I’m raising. We have to go farther and talk about the
actual qualities that we are working towards and how we know if we have
achieved them. I want her to grow up
believing that she is beautiful in both body and spirit, that she can be proud
of her looks while not being defined by them.
I want her to feel free to express her personality through her style
while understanding that clothes can only say so much. I want her to know that
she was radiant on the stage that Sunday because her smile lit up the
sanctuary, and the heels were just an accessory that I’m learning to live with.
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| Our family |
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| In hindsight, I probably should have asked them to hold still for a picture BEFORE they hit the dessert table. |
