My Little Pony & The Lesson My Mom Taught Me

When I was in grade one or two, my mom took me shopping at the local Big V. That’s when I saw her—an all-yellow My Little Pony. I didn’t have that one yet. She was perfect. Buttercream? Butterscotch? The name didn’t matter. She was mine.

I carried her through the store, holding on tight, already picturing her on my shelf. And then Cam walked in—the coolest kid in my grade.

Panic.

Before he could see, I launched that pony across the store like a grenade. I didn’t want him to know. I didn’t want to see the look on his face when he did.

I pulled myself together, said hi to Cam and his mom—pony-less—and made it through checkout like nothing had happened. My mom paid for her things, and we drove home.

No My Little Pony in sight.

Then, as I sat in the living room, my mom walked in, something tucked behind her back.

She pulled out that yellow pony.

She must have found it in the chip aisle. She must have known. And she bought it for me anyway.

She let me be me. And she protected me from a world that wouldn’t.

That’s how you parent.