He's Not Afraid to Be Who He Is. It's Why I Love Him.

At Micah's former school, it was a much-awaited event to see how the boy be dressed that day. Most time, he just wore things that normal kids would wear, but then there were the other day that he chose his own outfit. He'd pair sweat pants with a button down shirt and a tie. Or he'd wear a witch's pointy hat with a cowboy bandanna and a tie. (He likes ties.)

But at his new school, he chose to fit in from the start. He wanted to wear only jeans; no sweat pants, please. He wanted shirts printed with super heroes because other kids wore those. Mom-made shirts were definitely out. He wanted to be a regular kid. And I let him grow up the way he wanted to.

This week, however, Micah felt comfortable enough to be himself. I have to admit that my heart skipped a little, because it's never fun seeing your baby grow up. And really, it's a sad day when Micah stops being so much Micah and become more of a regular kiddo. Not that normal and regular are bad, but everyone falls into that category, right? I kinda love that Micah isn't afraid to be Micah.

So when he tried wearing his spiderman costume to school last week, I did tell him no (he'd get so hot with that over his clothes, and it's so bulky...), but I was glad that he reverted back to being Micah again. Even if it's a short lived phase, I'll take it.

And then there was this week. Micah raided the dress up box before he headed out the door. He'd donned a yellow skirt over his jeans, and slapped on a Polamalu wig. The wig had seen better days. At this point, it looks like an afro in bad need of a picking. Natty is an understatement. But it was raining, so that thing was like a shield on his head and so much better than any hat we own. And he got on the bus and went to school like that.

I'm also glad that Micah doesn't get when people are laughing at him. I like that he thinks they're laughing with him. And I know that's a double edged sword, because as he gets older, the kids will realize that and laugh at him, knowing he'll laugh along in fun, and that's when I'll cry inside while raging outwardly. Or the other way around. Or both. But for now, Micah is in fourth grade. And he's still not afraid to be exactly who he is, no matter where he is.

And I heartily applaud the teacher that took Luke aside and said not to be ashamed that his brother is comfortable enough to be different, but instead be proud of who he is. If I knew who that teacher was, I'd send them a basket of baked goods. Daily.

(Cell phone pictures are nothing but fuzz, but it's better than the picture I got, which is NONE.)

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