An acute observer like you, will upon occasion, see this phenomenon. A mother walking down the street or sitting in a cafe with her children.
Being aware and discerning, you know that the children are hers. Not only by the contact and interaction but, also by the absence of it at times. The natural and complex human ability to focus completely on the self, even within the closest proximity of the very loved.
So it’s mother and her children, that you are sure. Looking closer at the children you notice that they don’t resemble her in the slightest. They are Caucasian with a pale complexion, light blonde hair and deep grey blue eyes in contrast to their mother who appears to have oriental roots with her complexion, her narrow cut jet black eyes and the straight flat black hair.
By this stage, you the reader, are outraged by this stereotypical portrayal as experienced by you the observer and my potentially racist descriptions.
Let me appease you, dear reader. You are drawn to these conclusions not by the mothers’ features but, by her mothers’ presence. There, I hope you can now relax the shoulders, gently turn your neck and let go of the angst and indignation which you may have a felt moment ago. Much better.
The grandmother is there and there can be no doubt that she is her mother, because of the love you see in her eyes for her child and grandchildren. Her features are not subject to debate or speculation, she is Asian.
But I digress, I believe we were talking about blood.
I want you to understand that I’m not talking about some pure-blood doctrine, which is abhorrent to you and I and all we stand for. I’m talking about God. His magnificence in everything He does.
Each child is born to the right parents no matter what they look like, expressly because only God sees the greater picture. The picture vastly obscured by, some much irrelevant observations of our acute observer or the author herein. #markbaranov