Through Morgan's Eyes


When I was a little girl all the Barbie dolls had blond hair. Most of the baby dolls had plastic "ice cream swirls" molded atop their heads, painted in either red or light brown, and all of the dolls I'd ever seen had blue eyes. Almost all the movie and TV starlets, especially the glamorous, sexy ones, were of light complexion, blond headed and had either blue or green eyes. I remember sitting in front of a long mirror attached to the back of a door, perceiving the underlying message, "You will never be one of those glamorous women." "You could never be a movie star." "You will never be desirable and you will never be important." I think I had originally sat in front of the mirror to play with make-up, a common pastime for a five-year old girl. But, instead of pretending to be Farrah Fawcett or Bo Derek, I loathed the reflection. I tugged at the black hair, scratched at the dark skin, and only appreciated the warm, salty release that my dull brown eyes provided.

When my daughter, Morgan, was born, she had large brown eyes, thick eyelashes, and so much dark brown hair that it stood straight up in the air for months after her birth. I remember thinking that I never wanted her to stare into a mirror and hate the beautiful colors that create her uniqueness. I bought her every color doll imaginable - blond hair and black hair, red hair and every assortment of brown hair we could find. I bought every shade, culture and ethnic variation I could locate. I made it a point to provide her with feather boas and long formal dresses with puffy sleeves and sequence, hats and high heels, and purses and beads to match every outfit. But despite all my efforts, "teenitis" set in with all of its insecurities and blinders. I found her peering in the mirror one day, complaining about her plain brown eyes and dark hair. My heart sank. Nothing I said, provided, or tried, had prevented this disillusion. Then one day it happened, I looked at Morgan, not as my daughter, but as a person. And what I saw was absolutely stunning - beautiful smile, full thick hair and the most warm, inviting brown eyes I'd ever seen. A voice spoke in my head, "Her eyes are like yours." In one last effort, I shared my story with her about my eyes. How I had always thought them so plain and dull, until I saw hers, and the depth that only brown eyes can have; how no other color could convey compassion and emotion the way her brown eyes can, and how looking in her eyes made me want and appreciate my own. A few days later I received an unimaginable gift. Morgan was looking at me as a person, not as her mother, and with sparking, beaming eyes, she said, "You have the warmest, most beautiful eyes mom...just like mine."