Last Friday night, John and I took S and L to run some errands. The first stop was Costco, where we needed to pick up diapers, milk, and giant bags of chips. You know, the essentials. Strawberries and blackberries are finally coming back into season and we grabbed two big containers of each. My boys are addicted to berries and we eat them like they're going out of style.
As soon as they were placed in the cart, S started saying, "Strawberries. Strawberries! STRAWBERRIES!" We made our way through the store, grabbed a few more chips, and headed to the check-out. After paying, we decided to sit at the tables in the snack area and allow the boys to get their strawberry fix before heading off to run more errands. Two older ladies were sitting near by and began asking us questions about the boys. The All Time Number One question we get is, "Are they twins?" Nope. 15 months apart. That is usually followed up with, "Oh! Irish twins!" Now, I always thought Irish twins were 12 months a part or closer. Actually, let's take a moment to find out. Google to the rescue! Ah ha! I was right:
Definition: The term is used to describe two children born to the same mother in the same calendar year or within twelve months of each other. The phrase originated as a derogatory term associated with Irish immigration to the United States and England in the 1800's. The implication was that large groups of close-in-age siblings were the result of uneducated, poor Irish Catholic families' lack of birth control as well as self-control. In modern use, the term is not intended as an insult, but rather a description of siblings born close together. Irish twins are not actually twins and they are not the same as having twins, which are defined as two siblings born from the same gestation. (see Irish Twins)
Now, back to our story. One of the women began to comment on their blond hair and blue eyes.
Woman: Oh, how I love blond hair and blue eyes! They're adorable.
Me: Thank you! We enjoy having them around.
Woman: *look of disappointment crosses her face* My granddaughter has brown eyes. It's too bad because blue eyes and blond hair are perfect.
Me: *now slightly uncomfortable* No way! Brown eyes are so pretty! Dark and mysterious...
(White Supremacist) Woman: No, blond and blue. My daughter had blond hair, but it began to darken when she was around 7 or 8. I used to put Sun-In in her hair and make her sit in the sun. I'd say, "Don't tell anyone that mommy is making you do this!" She just had to keep that blond hair.
Me: Oh...wow...I...
(White Supremacist) Woman: What is your ethnicity dear?
Now, this is not the first time someone has asked me this in New England. It seems to be a preoccupation of sorts that certainly has to do with the history of the area, but it's odd and disconcerting none the less.
Me: *really uncomfortable* Uh, Scotch-Irish, German...
(White Supremacist) Woman: Ah yes! The Irish and the German! There it is! I told my son, "You have to marry a blond haired, blue eyed Irish Catholic from Chelmsford or I won't like her!"
Me: Wow, okay, well we really need to get back to our strawberries.
You're probably thinking, "Brooke! You should have said X, Y, and Z! That's what I would have done." And you're right. I should have said, "My boys are perfect because they are MY boys. Even if their hair was green, and their eyes were purple, they would still be perfect!" But, these things happen so fast and so out of the blue. For all of my wit and wisdom (sarcasm intended), I sometimes feel blindsided in these situations and just look for a way to end them peacefully.
On our way out, John and I were laughing at the audacity of this woman to make those kind of comments. She just assumed because we looked a certain way, we would totally agree and understand what she was saying! I told John, "You know, when she asked what our ethnicity was, I really wish I would have told her we were Jewish!"
I guess I'll just have to tuck that in my back pocket for next time.
