My daughters are like boys in many ways, and I like that. I grew up with brothers, joining them in playing football, cops and robbers, and other games they enjoyed. If the girls had an older brother, they'd be in seventh heaven.
For as long as I can remember, I never been lady-like. I always wanted to cut up and be comedic while other girls smiled sweetly. An old audiotape (a reel to reel converted to a CD) I recently rediscovered from the early 1970s demonstrates my not-so-girly tendencies. Into the microphone, I'd exclaim things like "Hiccup! Burp" Or, I'd yell "Woo-hoo! Yeah!" like a glitter glam rock star's performance. My mom would sigh and say, "Jennifer's being silly again."
Well, at Twyla's Easter party at preschool last week, several kids were screwing around being goofy--three boys and one girl, my daughter. The rest of the girls in class ate their treats quietly and contently (and neatly). Twyla was just one of the boys and having a ball with it. For years, I assumed having two brothers determined my personality, but now, with my daughter displaying the same behavior, I guess being a playful flaky kid who liked to roughhouse was innately me. Twyla likes to jump into your arms from the steps when you least expect it. It gives us a heart attack because we are unprepared for it. A few weeks ago over the phone, my father brought up (without my mentioning Twyla's love of unannounced leaping) that I used to, without warning, jump off the couch for my dad to catch me. It had nothing to do with brothers, and I pass this daredevil gene onto my daughter, I'm afraid. Lucy displays some of it too, but she has yet to fully grow into it.
Here's my favorite pic of the girls and me in the Easter dresses I sewed. A serious, sweet pose would be nice, but they would much rather "horse around," which is why I like this photo.
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