She doesn’t want to be the burger.
I should’ve known she wouldn’t want to be the burger. It was just such a cute idea—I think I let my excitement run ahead of my mom sense.
Every year for the past several years, my family has devised a costume theme for Halloween. We’re all in it together—daughters, Mom, Dad, dog. One year we were all superheroes. Another year the girls wore fleece animal costumes while my husband and I were zookeepers, and our puppy wore a lion mane that kept falling off.
My favorite so far was the year we dressed as cops and robbers. Of course the kids got to be the cops. They kept us in line.
So this year, when Dad and Mom and third grader had the brilliant idea of dressing the girls as a burger and fries and my husband and me as McDonald’s employees, we thought we’d hit the jackpot. Hilarious! How fun would that be?!? So I scoured Amazon and about a dozen other costume shops for the perfect outfits. All we needed was a sign-off from our sixth grader.
But when she got home from school that day, the plan took a nose dive.
“Lovey, look at this.” I practically giggled as I beckoned her to my computer screen where the four costumes sat waiting in my shopping cart, ready to click BUY. “Your sister can be the fries. Dad and I will glue big yellow M’s to these hats. And you—eeek!!! Look at this! YOU get to be the burger!!!”
I don’t know what I expected. A gasp, a high-five, a thoroughly impressed squeal of approval. But I got none of it. Instead, she stared at the screen, her expression flat.
“What’s wrong, babe? Don’t you love it?”
“Mmmmm.” She screwed her lips tight and looked at me. “No.”
“You don’t??” My mouth drooped. “Seriously? You don’t want to be the burger?”
“Uh, no. I’ll be the McDonald’s worker, though.”
“But it’d be so funny!! Your sister is the fries, you’re the burger… come on, isn’t that so awesome?”
“No. I am not wearing that.” She pointed to the image on the screen—a wide-smiling woman sporting a round foam coverall, screen printed with a giant photo of a cheeseburger. Okay, so it was kind of goofy. But wasn’t that the point?
“You don’t like it?” I spoke gently.
“No.”
I hung my head, allowing reason to flatten my enthusiasm. ““You’d be embarrassed to wear it. I understand.”
Of COURSE my middle school daughter is not going to walk around town in a big fat squishy burger dress. That would be social suicide. She’s cool and collected now, she’s a lady, she cannot stoop to infantile costuming schemes—get a clue, Mother woman! You were in middle school once, too.
Burger costumes aren’t funny again until college. And then only for frat boys. For crying out loud.
{I can slam frat boys. I was a sorority girl. I say these things with love.}
And so I’m learning. As my children grow, I must put myself in their shoes. I must allow them to be who they are, to pass through awkward phases, to discover their preferences and their place in the world. I must support their hearts—even when it dampers my fun.
Because I refuse to be a parent who shames her child.
Our kids will have emotions and opinions that make no sense to us—that to our grown-up minds are ridiculous. But to the child, they are perfectly reasonable. I’m not talking about opinions of life vs. death, truth vs. lies. We uphold Christ in this house, my daughter knows her identity is in Him, and He loves her in a burger costume even if the rest of the sixth grade does not.
But how can we expect our kids to think like we think, to attain the wisdom it took us decades to grasp—when in fact they are exactly on pace, experiencing each stage of their own understanding, their own discoveries, their own journey just the way God designed.
Let’s give them grace to feel and be and express who they are today, in this moment, even if their views on burger costumes will change tomorrow. Because today the humiliation is very real. The fear, the worries, the insecurity—our kids will experience it all. And I want to be part of the solution, not the problem. Don’t you?
“Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.” (1 Corinthians 13:4–7)
So we’re back to the drawing board. This year the Kopitzkes will wander the neighborhood in some sort of unified costume theme, but it’s going to take a bit of Pinteresting before we all agree on what that will be. And that’s okay. That’s as it should be.
Because my children’s opinions matter. Their emotions matter. Their confidence matters. Not as the ultimate thing—but as a means to building the bridge between what I believe and what I hope they, too, will one day believe. I’m creating an atmosphere where they know they are loved and their hearts are protected. That’s the fertile ground that I pray will nurture and grow their love of my Jesus, if not the love of my costume brilliance.
Now. If you happen to see me wearing a burger later this month, with an eight-year-old box of fries at my side, thank the sixth grade McDonald’s employee for humoring her mother. At my age, you can’t be afraid to take one for the team.
Blessings,
Becky
What to Read Next: Woman, You Are Able