When I was editing the photo up there, and trying to think of what text to put up—which, by the way, can take as much as an hour. I’m not kidding. Apparently, adding clever text to a picture is often beyond my realm of ready wit. That’s why a lot of the time it only says the name of the food.
Anyway, when I was trying to come up with what I should write there, only one phrase came to me: “think pink.” As cliche as those words are, my brain would not let go of them. I knew that by adding those words to the picture, I would have to write about different things than my usual jibber jabber about my kids, or why I used cardamom in a sauce instead of just vanilla. I knew that by writing “think pink,” I knew I would be encouraging discussion about what the color pink means to you.
The first (and obvious) thought I jumped to, was that people would think of breast cancer research. Cancer is something that has not avoided our family. However, I am relieved to say, that at least for now, breast cancer has passed over me and my loved ones, and for that I am grateful. It does not diminish how much respect I feel for women and men who have suffered as a result of this disease. Their courage is an inspiration to me. When I put myself in their shoes, I want to hug my kids a little tighter, and steal kisses from them more often.
Then I thought of my daughter. Pink will always be her color. At least for me, anyway.
When I was a child, my brother would instruct me on all things pertaining to life, success, love, and happiness. Had my mother been aware that a seven-year-old was having free reign advising a four-year-old, she may have intervened before he filled me in on the reality of Santa, or (when we were a few years older) the miracle of life explained with skin colored silly putty as visual aids. Among my brother’s vast wisdom, was the notion that all things girly were stupid. That included ballet, Barbies, girls’ bikes, and most of all: the color pink.
Of course, I love my brother, and it’s more fun than anything else, to reflect on his profound influence on my shaping character, but when I had my own daughter, I promised myself that nothing would interfere with her comfort in expressing her femininity. Even if that meant nudging her a little (Insert angry shouts here). She is sandwiched between two boys, after all.
I figured, if she wants to hate the color pink, she has her whole life to decide that. But I wanted her to start out by knowing it was okay to be as girly as she wanted. I wanted her to feel safe in knowing that being a girl is beautiful, and never something to be ashamed of. That it’s okay to like wearing fingernail polish (she hates it though—scrapes it off within a few hours. Just like her mom), and it’s okay to like dresses, and lace, and princess movies. I want her to be happy, knowing she is a daughter of God, well-loved by Him, and by her own family.
So what about you? What does the color pink mean to you?