I feel like mute Mario, once he and Peach become parents, would be absolutely terrified of having that part of himself in his daughter. He’d be keeping such a close eye on her and tracking every little thing, because deep down he’s scared she’s gonna turn out just like him and not be able to speak like other kids. Maybe she’s even a little behind developmentally, just not quite babbling as much as most babies do, and it strikes fear into his heart because he knows what it’s like to grow up like that and have the whole world trying to break you and make you into something you’re not.
He just kind of holds her and signs to her over and over that it’ll be okay, and even as a tiny baby with uncoordinated limbs, she waves her arms around like she’s signing back, and he’s relieved that at least she’ll have that. He hadn’t learned to sign until adulthood. And he remembers suddenly that it’s because no one let him learn, because they wanted him to use his words, and what if they try to make her do the same? What if she’s put through that too?
Peach finds him crying and panicking, and when he finally explains his fears, she just shakes her head. “Are you going to make her speak?” No, of course not, he signs. “Are you going to allow her school to make her speak?” No, of course not. “Are you going to let anyone make her feel bad for not speaking? Would you ever allow her to feel like that’s a problem that needs to be fixed?”
And he just kind of starts crying again, because no, of course not. He would never. He’s going to do everything in his power to make sure she doesn’t grow up feeling the same way he did. He’s gonna be everything she needs, and everything he needed back then and never got. And she’s got a host of other people in her corner too who will love and support her no matter what. She’s going to fine, he’s sure of it.
