“Daddy, hurry up!” Awinita chirps, yanking at my arm. I laugh and follow after her. All of the young children at her school have been excited about Halloween since school had started up again. Awinita is dead set on getting a costume this year, so I’ve decided to let her pick something out at the store in town. “I could be anything in the world, Daddy,” the young girl says with wonder in her voice, her big, brown eyes scanning the rows and rows of packaged outfits. I take a glimpse at some of the prices and my jaw drops. Hopefully my daughter settles on something on the less expensive side. She squeals with glee and runs towards a make-up kit containing the supplies needed to transform oneself into a fawn. “You know, thats pretty fitting for you,” I say, crouching beside her. “Your name means ‘little deer’ in Cherokee.” Awinita hugs it close to her chest, and I smile and stand up, returning to gaze at the ridiculous collection of costumes. A hot dog, King Kong, a baby all are lined up right next to each other. “Daddy, I’m confused,” Awinita suddenly says, her small voice carrying over to me. I turn and walk towards her, looking at where she was pointing. My stomach drops. Her finger was aiming at one of the costumes on the wall. The name of it reads, “Warrior Princess” and the picture shows a young, white girl with a brown, fringe-bottom skirt and a huge, feather headdress. A small yellow star on the package says, “War paint included!” with an arrow towards the lines of red streaked across the girl’s cheeks. “Is that supposed to be like us?” Awinita asks, the innocence in her voice making me wince. Her brown eyes do not move from the costume. “Yes,” I eventually say, “It’s supposed to be a Native American girl.” “But why is she wearing that?” Awinita immediately says, pointing at the headdress. She turns towards me. “Isn’t that for boys?” “Yes, the men of the tribe would make the headdresses and only the bravest war heroes could wear them,” I confirm, proud that she knows this. Awinita falls silent, studying the costume again. “I think she’s supposed to be like you,” I mumble quietly, and Awinita looks at me in surprise. She points at the girl’s face. “She doesn’t look like me! Why would I wear war paint? I don’t fight people,” she demands, looking rather upset. “I don’t know,” I reply with a frown. She gets quiet again, staring at the picture once again. After a few moments, she shakes her head. “That isn’t me,” Awinita says with certainty. “I am not a costume, I am a person.” “I know, Awinita. You are not just a costume,” I sigh, giving her a hug, but she still seems upset. I point at the deer makeup still in her hands. “Why don’t we go buy that kit, Little Deer?” I suggest, and she smiles at me brightly. All of her past sadness had vanished. I smile back at her and take her hand, and we walk towards the front of the store. In all honesty, I couldn’t wait to leave.
“Daddy, hurry up!” Awinita chirps, yanking at my arm. I laugh and follow after her. All of the young children at her school have been excited about Halloween since school had started up again. Awinita is dead set on getting a costume this year, so I’ve decided to let her pick something out at the store in town.
ReplyDelete“I could be anything in the world, Daddy,” the young girl says with wonder in her voice, her big, brown eyes scanning the rows and rows of packaged outfits. I take a glimpse at some of the prices and my jaw drops. Hopefully my daughter settles on something on the less expensive side.
She squeals with glee and runs towards a make-up kit containing the supplies needed to transform oneself into a fawn.
“You know, thats pretty fitting for you,” I say, crouching beside her. “Your name means ‘little deer’ in Cherokee.”
Awinita hugs it close to her chest, and I smile and stand up, returning to gaze at the ridiculous collection of costumes. A hot dog, King Kong, a baby all are lined up right next to each other.
“Daddy, I’m confused,” Awinita suddenly says, her small voice carrying over to me. I turn and walk towards her, looking at where she was pointing. My stomach drops.
Her finger was aiming at one of the costumes on the wall. The name of it reads, “Warrior Princess” and the picture shows a young, white girl with a brown, fringe-bottom skirt and a huge, feather headdress. A small yellow star on the package says, “War paint included!” with an arrow towards the lines of red streaked across the girl’s cheeks.
“Is that supposed to be like us?” Awinita asks, the innocence in her voice making me wince. Her brown eyes do not move from the costume.
“Yes,” I eventually say, “It’s supposed to be a Native American girl.”
“But why is she wearing that?” Awinita immediately says, pointing at the headdress. She turns towards me. “Isn’t that for boys?”
“Yes, the men of the tribe would make the headdresses and only the bravest war heroes could wear them,” I confirm, proud that she knows this.
Awinita falls silent, studying the costume again.
“I think she’s supposed to be like you,” I mumble quietly, and Awinita looks at me in surprise. She points at the girl’s face.
“She doesn’t look like me! Why would I wear war paint? I don’t fight people,” she demands, looking rather upset.
“I don’t know,” I reply with a frown.
She gets quiet again, staring at the picture once again. After a few moments, she shakes her head.
“That isn’t me,” Awinita says with certainty. “I am not a costume, I am a person.”
“I know, Awinita. You are not just a costume,” I sigh, giving her a hug, but she still seems upset.
I point at the deer makeup still in her hands.
“Why don’t we go buy that kit, Little Deer?” I suggest, and she smiles at me brightly. All of her past sadness had vanished. I smile back at her and take her hand, and we walk towards the front of the store. In all honesty, I couldn’t wait to leave.