Acceptance is a pivotal goal of human existence. It is the driving force behind virtually all behavior beginning in early childhood. Biological anthropologists believe infants are inherently beautiful and attractive with large eyes, round faces, symmetrical features, and soft skin (characteristics more commonly known as "cuteness") so that they are accepted by their mothers and receive more attention, thus, increasing their chances of survival. The need for acceptance seems to be at its greatest peak in the teen years. Behind the popularity contests, clique formation, and bullying that perhaps tortured us all at some point of our young lives, is the hunger for a sense of belonging. However, if this need is somehow left unrequited during development, it is ever so much more achingly painful in later life -- it can turn into dangerous self loathing or deadly self destruction.
In the need for acceptance, we desperately ask the question "Who am I?" It is answered by our families, our peers, and our communities before we can answer it for our selves. In our membership among these groups, we see reflections of ourselves and learn the language of self expression. Sometimes membership does not come easily, as individuals we are all unique and are required to relinquish ourselves to some degree of conformity for acceptance. I cringe every time I tell my three year old she must stay in line at dance class and not spin around or pretend to be a butterfly when all the other girls are following directions. I know there's a time and place when appropriate behavior is necessary but I hope my reigning in of her free spirit does not extend outside the dance studio walls. I know some of the other little girls (and their parents) get a little annoyed when my daughter strays outside her line or pulls her t-shirt up over her head and bumps around. But then, there is another little girl who laughs at her antics and makes funny faces with my daughter in the mirror. During a break, I was helping my daughter fix her dance skirt and telling her to "follow the other girls" when this pure-hearted little girl, no more than five years old, said to me, "Don't be mad at her, she's my friend."
I looked into her big brown, concerned eyes and was reminded of Brenda. I too, have someone in my life who has stood up for me, Brenda. She was my friend when I was different from everyone else and for that I am grateful. This headband is for her. A single flower with light and dark brown leather petals and accented with white mother-of-pearl beads.
