childhood perceptions

When I was a little girl, I loved to dream about what my life would be like when I grew up. I would watch my mom in awe as she drove the car, wondering how she could move this big machine without constantly fumbling over which pedal to press, or forgetting to signal before a corner. I used to wonder what I would look like when I matured. Any pretty actress with dark hair and dark eyes was a good candidate for my future appearance. I wondered who I would marry - where he would come from (across the world, or next door?), what he would look like (Eric from the little Mermaid was my favourite), and how long it would take me to find him. I dreamed of the children I would have and thought as little of childbirth as possible (because it terrified me), and every baby that flitted through my mind had dark hair, dark eyes, and a decidedly feminine appearance. Boys were a strange territory to me, never having any brothers of my own. My fantasies dwelt in the realm of what I knew.

Now, as an adult, I can't help but laugh a bit at my childhood wonderment. Driving has lost it's golden haze - especially since it means many dollars are flying out of my pocket every year. It's a necessary evil in a fast-paced world. And as for my appearance? Well, it seems no miraculous transformation has taken place to turn me into Cather Zeta-Jones. I have found that I look much the same as I did as a child , just more mature. (This is not a bad thing.) 

It turns out the man I was meant to marry was somewhat familiar to me all my life (although I wasn't familiar to him). I was babysat for a time with a cousin that thought very highly of him, and the name "Joey" was often spoken. I couldn't help but be fond of him, even before I met him. When I did meet him, he didn't look quite like a Disney heartthrob. He was a thin, tall, and carefree youth with curly hair that defied description of colour, a mouth that was almost always smiling, soft grey-blue eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses, and a gentle demeanour that was free from judgment and disdain. I liked him immediately and admired him from afar for a few years. It still seems a bit of a mystery how we came to know and love each other, and I can't deny God's hand in all of it. Our relationship was reserved and respectful, taking terrifying honesty on my part to even get past the "comfortable friendship" stage. Oh, how thankful I am to my mom for counselling me to take that step! Even our engagement was not your average engagement, considering we were separated by distance and relied solely on phones, emails, and letters for communication and the expression of sentiment.

I could hardly be surprised when my first child was born and he had sandy blond hair and blue eyes. Neither could I protest when the second followed suit. My dreams had been incomplete because I had only seen half of the equation. How could I have known what my future husband was to look like? How could I predict exactly how our combined genes would represent themselves in our children? 

Looking back at little Andrea, I can only smile at her childish understanding of life. She couldn't fathom how growing up could make her prepared to do things like driving cars all by herself. She thought that one day she would just wake up and be transformed into some beautiful creature completely different than herself. She believed she would know who she would marry from the moment she saw him, and that he would know at that exact same moment. She refused to acknowledge that children would come with pain, and she allowed herself to picture nothing but brown eyes and brown hair. 

Growing up is a funny thing.