The Genes

img_2072Photo Credit: Susan Spaulding

I enjoyed the way my three-year-old girl, Disha, pointed her chubby fingers towards a painting placed in her pre-school. I have asked her which picture she liked the most.

It was a picture of a girl presenting a flower to a pooh bear.
“That’s an excellent picture!” I congratulated her selection.

She surprised me by pointing to another picture saying,“ No like, no like!”
I asked her why.

“The cow is eating flowers, Mama! No like!!”
My eyes scrutinized the painting. It was a donkey.

I knew correcting my kid was useless, as she thinks she created and named almost all animals and birds. Still, I tried, “That’s a donkey, not a cow, Disha! Look at its head.”

She swayed her head negatively.
A memory struck me.

My five-year-old self who believed all the eggs in our farm was laid by our bunny and the hens were the enemies who came to peck them. None of my family could convince me otherwise, for a long time.

I laughed at the way the genes work.

__________________

174 words

{Sunday Photo Fiction-January 20, 2019}

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2 thoughts on “The Genes

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