Yesterday my younger brothers had their friend over for a playdate. This was the first time the friend had been to our house, so their mom came inside to meet the family. I went downstairs to greet her and introduce myself, and upon meeting, she remarked on just how similar I looked to my moms (who were sitting a few feet away). I was baffled. My first thought was, “Is she being serious?” then, “Maybe she’s just joking.”
But I was wrong. She was being authentic, she even proceeded to turn to my moms and ask them whose I was (in terms of genetic relation, I am very much both of theirs!). Now, why this comment stirred me up is because one of my moms, MaryAnn, who I do not share blood with, is commonly mistaken as my friend, cousin, and even romantic partner (yeah, it weirds us out too!). Most people take one look at us, the different colors of our skin and eyes, vastly different textures of our hair, and the thought of us being mother-daughter doesn’t even cross their mind. Even when we do clarify, we are often questioned. For example, earlier this week my mom took me to open my first bank account, which, because of my age, had to be monitored under her account. Despite my mom introducing me as her daughter, referring to me as her daughter, and clarifying that she was my mom, the bank staffer still mumbled over the word “parent,” with a questioning glare as we set up the account. It was as if he thought we were lying- we couldn’t possibly be a mother and daughter! So, when the friend’s mom not only acknowledged that I was indeed my mother’s daughter, but even said that we looked alike and couldn’t tell who carried me, I was stunned.
It wasn’t until later that day, after my brothers’ friend and her mom had left, that I realized just how validating and healing the comment was. I also realized how accustomed I’ve become to judgment- I don’t even expect people to accept us as mother and daughter, I am always mentally prepared to explain our relationship. It was so refreshing to be acknowledged in such a way, and it makes me wonder why everyone else can’t do the same. Why must people judge others by their looks? It is 2025 and I am consistently meeting people who struggle to understand that a white daughter can have a black mom, who is still my REAL mom.
When teachers question my mother’s authority at school events, I wish I could explain to them just how much love she has for me. When the man at the tattoo shop questioned my mother’s signature of approval, I wish I could show them the documents that gave me her last name. When people glance between us and ask “Who’s your friend?,” or “How’d y’all meet?” I wish I could reveal to them that she is so much more than a friend to me, but a mother. A caring, loving, giving, mother who has and continues to put me before herself. But no, I don’t explain or show or reveal anything to these judgmental people, I don’t have to (and quite honestly, I don’t care to!). My mom is my mom, no amount of skepticism or judgment can diminish that.
I chose to write about this not because I need to announce the validity of my relationship with my mom, but because I dream of the day when families are not judged by their looks. I chose to write about this because my younger brothers, who are fairer skinned, will unfortunately go through this too. I chose to write about this because my twelve-year-old self would mix cinnamon into her lotion (a “DIY tanning hack” found on Pinterest) and crimp her hair, desperately trying to look more like her mom. I chose to write about this because of one small comment, from some random mom of one of my brothers’ random friends, that had such a profound impact on me.
A small act of acknowledgment and acceptance can make all the difference. The next time you come across a family that doesn’t look quite like most, acknowledge them as you would any other. The next time you are met with an “unfamiliar” or “unusual” dynamic, such as that of me and my mom, choose acceptance. Don’t be judgmental. Choose love.
-Lyn Jones
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