My daughters are a delightful contrast.
My six-year-old is a petite whirlwind, with frizzy hair and knobby knees, exuding a vibrant energy that seems to defy her delicate frame. She’s like a little firecracker, radiating an inner strength that keeps her afloat, even when it feels like a gentle breeze could knock her over.
On the other hand, my three-year-old is a wonderfully plump little girl. While she’s nearly as tall as her big sister, she carries a sweetness about her that reflects her baby-like sensitivity. With a cherubic face and the emotional maturity of a toddler, she easily shifts from giggles to tears, collapsing into a soft heap at the slightest frown.
Physically, they couldn’t be more different: my older daughter has sunny blonde locks and striking blue eyes, while my younger one, like me, sports rich brown hair and deep dark eyes. My eldest resembles her dad, while my youngest is my mini-me. (My mother-in-law often chimes in with her observations, noting that my older daughter inherited her petite build and that my younger one, with all her chubby cheeks, must take after me. What a gem she is!)
Strangers frequently look at my girls quizzically, wondering if they’re related. Just once, someone boldly asked me if they share the same parents. I was so taken aback that all I could muster was a surprised “yes.” A friend suggested I respond next time with a cheeky, “as far as my husband knows (wink).”
These two girls are a fascinating study in both physical and emotional contrasts. Their one shared fascination? Princesses. It’s a passion I’ve struggled to embrace: princess movies, dolls, and clothes.
I attended an all-girls school from sixth through twelfth grade, a privilege my parents worked hard to provide. The environment was rich in tradition, with ivy-covered buildings and passionate teachers who served as role models. One memorable English teacher passionately opposed the notion of “princess” culture, insisting that it sent the wrong message to young girls. “What are we teaching our future women?” she would ask, exasperated. “That their greatest aspiration is a pretty gown and a prince? We’re better than that, ladies!”
Fast forward twenty years, and here I am surrounded by every form of princess paraphernalia you can imagine. While I’ve made sure my girls have diverse toys—think dinosaurs, cars, and legos—they always gravitate back to the sparkling allure of princesses. I could simply banish those toys, but I firmly believe that forbidden things only become more enticing. (Books are a different story; my daughters enjoy a broad range of literature and rarely request Disney Princess tales—thank goodness!)
Every time my daughters opt for a princess toy over something more empowering, I hear my high school teacher’s voice echoing in my mind. “What are we teaching our future women?!?” Guilt washes over me, and I worry about letting down the trailblazers who fought for my rights. How will my daughters learn to be strong and independent? How will they embrace girl power?
I encourage them to face their fears and demonstrate problem-solving skills. Since their dad often works late, they know that if something needs doing, mom steps in. I strive to show them that they can be both nurturing and resilient. But is it enough?
Just last month at the park, my girls were having a blast in the sandbox. My three-year-old was diligently digging when a larger boy approached and snatched her shovel without a word. She instantly burst into tears as he walked away. My six-year-old, resembling a tiny pixie, stood up and approached the boy. I held my breath, mentally urging her to be assertive but calm.
To my amazement, she locked eyes with him and delivered the iciest glare I’ve ever seen. In a surprising turn of events, he handed her the shovel. And then, in a moment that made me beam with pride, she said, “thank you” with grace. She exhibited strength and composure under pressure.
After reclaiming the shovel, my older daughter returned it to her little sister, and they resumed their joyful play, digging deeper into the sand. The dirtiness of it all would have delighted my English teacher, but the girl power displayed in that moment would have made her proud too.
So, go ahead and enjoy your princess toys, my girls, if that’s what you choose for the day. If you can show strength when it counts, you’ll be just fine.
This article was originally published on Aug. 24, 2012.
Summary:
In this reflective piece, the author candidly discusses the differences between her two daughters and their shared love for princess culture. Despite her reservations about the implications of this fascination, she highlights moments of strength and empowerment displayed by her older daughter, ultimately showcasing that it’s not about the toys they choose, but the values they embody.