Rosalyn & Marlene McKinnon. Under cut due to length.
- at the age of three, my mom showed me how to put on my lipstick. she dressed me up in one of her old gowns, combed my hair and helped into a pair of her old heels. she watched me stomp around the house and walk around chanting, “look, i’m mommy!”
with that, she started my love for dressing up and pampering myself. dress up games were followed by spa days, then shopping sprees and days of standing in front of a mirror as i practiced my smiles. she taught me the value of my reflection, not because a girl’s job was to look pretty, but because taking care of myself it was an act of self love.
- at the age of six, my mom saw me sitting on the grass with teary eyes as i watched my brothers play a game of quidditch, one i wasn’t allowed to join. she pulled me aside and brought me into the kitchen; handed me a bowl, a spoon and a bag full of chocolate chips and then taught me how to make my favorite cookies. then she watched me sit down in the middle of the living room, a plate full of warm chocolate chip cookies resting on my lap as i smirked at my brothers, deciding wether or not sharing was the right option.
with that, she started teaching how to be a strong girl. she taught me a way to no longer depend on my brothers for entertainment, taught me i was capable of doing things on my own an enjoying myself. showed me that even if at times it might not feel like it, i was just a strong as matthew, marshall or mitchell- heck, i was even stronger.
- at the age of nine, i found my mom sitting on the porch with tears streaming down her face as my dad spoke to my grandpa inside. “you’re a disgrace”, he’d say as my daddy tried getting him to leave. i sat by mommy and place my hand in hers, as much as i wanted to ask what grandpa meant by that, i stayed silent and cuddled into her, hugging her as tight as i could while wishing her tears away.
later i watched as my mommy stood up, placing a kiss on my forehead before walking back inside and closing the door behind her, keeping me out. as curious as i was, i stuck my head to the closest window and watched as she took my daddy’s hand and spoke to my grandpa calmly. he didn’t look happy but he listened silently for a bit before saying his farewells and leaving.
with that, my mom taught it was okay to cry. breaking down didn’t signify weakness, not if after you calmed down you stood up straighter than before and fought for what you loved. my mom taught my being vulnerable and hurting was okay. she taught me to draw strength from my pain, from my fears; she showed me just how strong of a woman she was and how brave of a woman i could be.
