“I am a mutant.”
The first time I heard Amy say that, I was drinking coffee. I aspirated Holiday Blend straight into my lungs and couldn’t stop coughing for 10 minutes. By the time I could breathe, the moment was over. Perhaps I misheard.
Then it happened again.
“I am a mutant,” she said, with a mischievous grin. She high-fived me. I wasn’t sure what she meant, but she certainly didn’t seem distressed by the thought. In fact, she seemed gleeful.
I worried about what that meant about her sense of identity; worried that this new focus on genetic testing had left her feeling less-than-whole. Honestly, I was self-conscious about what other people would think or say. I sat down with her and said that perhaps we could say something other than “mutant.” Maybe we could say something less jarring like, “I have a genetic disorder.”
Amy just laughed.
“Mom, think about it. The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles are mutants. The X-men are mutants. Actually, most super heroes are mutants of some kind.
Face it mom, all the COOL people are mutants…and I’M one of them!”
Who can argue with that? My daughter is strong. She is brave. And, she has the battle scars to prove it.
She has taught me to embrace, even celebrate – and certainly not pity – difference. She shows me that even when I cannot change something I might not like, I can re-frame it so that it does not control me.
TitaniumAmy: She is my super hero.