The Milkman’s Son

Preface: Tilly is a Writer, FIFO Wife and Tantrum Negotiator to 3 small children, who enjoys the finer things in life, like solo showers, jumbo sized coffee and leaving the house without remnants of a small child’s bodily fluids. She wrote this piece approximately a year ago, and I’m sure it is relatable to so many of us. Enjoy

Bec.

Every single day, the question is raised, as to why my youngest son is blonde with green eyes, given my husband is Maori.

It’s not limited to people I know either, perfect strangers make comments as well when they see my older children are olive and dark featured.

“Different dads hey?”

“Who’s little boy is this you always have?”

“What happened there?”

What happened is, I also have genes. And you are kind of a douche lord.

The 78th billion person to comment, was a lady at school today, she looked into the pram and said “Milkman’s hey?” as she laughed.

“We don’t have a milk man.”

*starting to sense my amusement factor is negative 50*

“Posties?” insert awkward giggle.

“Our postie is a small Asian woman, that would be hard to explain.”

I can tell now that she’s picked up on the fact that her jokes are old and annoying, coincidentally like her. I assume that’s the end of conversation.

“You must get that a lot! It is strange though isn’t it?”

I can’t deal. I want to say, as strange as you leaving the house in those pants, but I’m a good person & I don’t judge people, even if they choose to wear lime green floral trousers.

“It’s not that strange.” My husband is moderately brown and I am clag-glue white, so it’s really not actually that strange. What is strange is that people lose the filter between their brain and their mouth and feel the need to comment on the colour of my baby.

What’s stranger is the way people, say “Omg he’s blonde!” Like its something we don’t know. We know!

For awhile I was worried our delicious Big Blonde would always feel different, like an adopted Scandinavian. I worried his blonde hair and green eyes and lack of ability to potentially get a tan in summer would make him feel less a part of the family, but then I remembered I’m white too and I DONT GIVE A FLYING FORK!

I’m the original white chocolate in our family and having another member join my once, solo Wolfpack, is fine by me. But what’s more, I don’t care if my kids are black, white, yellow, purple. I don’t care what colour their hair is or their eyes are, I don’t care if they can or can’t get a tan in summer and I really couldn’t care about what anyone else says.

My only hope is my kids grow up to be happy, healthy, well mannered and kind people, who have more common sense than to look into a pram and question the colour of a child’s skin.

And a shoutout to my husband, who is always cool as a cucumber when having the paternity of his youngest child questioned. Not one under handed comment or subtle kick in the throat in response to the many gigantic twats we have encountered.

If nothing else, baby Nix has his dad’s placid nature and chilled outlook on life. It’s a beautiful thing, something I could really learn from.

Breathe it all in. Love it all out.

You can find more of Tilly’s writing and reflection over at:

www.facebook.com/typicaltilly
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Author: Bec Crombie

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