Three years ago, I gave birth to a small human being I like to call The Baby Goth. From the moment BG was able to express preferences, he informed us his favourite colour was black. Except for that one time when I mistakenly referred to “black” as his favourite colour in conversation, and he corrected me, pointing out that his favourite colour had in fact changed to “dark black.” I kid you not. Last time we went to the pediatrician, they put him in “the blue room.” Because the rooms are colour-coded! Because kids like colours, right? Well, BG, while we were waiting for the doctor, said, “They should have a black room. Black is my colour.” Still not kidding.
These are the pictures he brings home from day care.
We all know whose fault this is, right? Yes, from her roost in New York, it appears that Lily has put the whammy on my child. In her defense, he expressed this preference independent of her, but the girl is now fanning the flames as rigorously as she can without getting a tan.
For example: For Christmas, she sent him a package of crayons that contained only black crayons. The fact that she did this by buying eight packages of crayons, taking the single black crayon out of each and uniting them in one package of dark splendour, and then doctoring the outside of the package so that the image showed only black crayons, is amazing. There was also black play-doh. And last week, black M&Ms.
How does she do it?
Lily once told me that I was goth inside. Somewhere under all the pink clothing and relentless optimism, beats the heart of a tortured poet, was the argument. I do like Chekov, like A LOT, so maybe she has a point. Anyway, I took it as a compliment. And if BG grows up to be as much of a superstar as Lily, I’ll be lucky, lucky, lucky.