Photo by Pauline Campos
I don’t remember not knowing that my mother weighed 85 pounds when she got pregnant with me. Or that she was a senior in high school. Or that she got married right after graduation and had me instead of letting her parents talk her into an abortion.
I don’t remember not thinking I was an accident. That I was never meant to be. That her life could have been different. That my father was a man of honor.
I don’t remember not doubting my worth.
I wasn’t wished for. I wasn’t dreamed about. I wasn’t planned.
I just…was.
And I’ve never felt that accidentally coming into existence gave me the right to feel worthy of the air I breathe or space in which I reside. Keep in mind that my mother never made me feel guilty for being born. She loves me and the four surprises that came after me. We all know that. I just can’t shake the feeling that I never should have been and that’s not her fault. It’s just the way my brain works.
So every night, I tell my daughter this story:
A wish sat upon a star, looking down at the world below.
A woman sat in the cool night air, her head tilted up at just the right angle for the wish to watch as she closed her eyes and began to move her lips, speaking words the wish could feel but could not hear. When the woman stood up and went back inside her home, the wish smiled in that way that only wishes do. If the woman had come back out and looked up at the sky in the exact spot where she’d been looking just moments before, she would have been awestruck to see how brilliantly the star now twinkled against the night sky. For it’s a little-known fact that a star’s ability to shine is directly related to the happiness the wish sitting upon it is experiencing.
The wish’s star was positively glowing.
It was finally her turn.
The wish had lost track of how long she sat upon her star, joyously watching as other wishes were called upon each night. When it was their turn, each wish would smile and wave to those still waiting to be called upon. And then, once they were, in the moment just before they stepped off their respective stars, they’d shine brighter than any other in the sky. And then the wish would fall, leaving a trail of light in its wake as it made its way down to the earth, ready to become someone’s something.
Maybe a wish would become a playful little puppy for a sweet little boy, or perhaps a wish would imaging what it would become as it fell, purring to its heart’s content as its dreamer got fitted it with a pretty pink collar. Or maybe a wish was meant to be a rainstorm for a thirsty flower, or maybe a wish trailed off into a beautiful nothingness, its only calling from its dreamer being the precious opportunity to see a falling star.
And while all the forms a wish might take once breathed into life are great and noble, this wish was making her star positively beam from the happiness radiating from within, for hers was a very special journey.
“What kind of journey was it, Mama?” the little girl asked her mother, already knowing the answer and smiling a sleepy smile as she began to fall into a dream.
“That wish on that star became you, my love,” Mama said. “Thank you for being my wish.”
The little girl snuggled close into her mother’s chest and whispered, “Thank you for making me true.”
Because once upon a time an accident purposely wished on a star and a miracle happened. I thank her for being my wish. She thanks me for wishing her true. And then she smiles as she drifts off into dreams.
Pauline Campos is Latina Magazine’s advice & relationship columnist, editor of the ebook anthology, Strong Like Butterfly, and a radio personality with a regular advice segment on NPR’s Latino USA show. Pauline blogs three times a week at Aspiring Mama (or when she remember to take her Adderall) & is the founder of Girl Body Pride. Strong like Butterfly is currently available on Smashwords. This post was originally published on Girl Body Pride in December of 2012.
