But What Does it Mean?!?!?!

My daughter had a recent, long-term assignment: a mini biography about a famous person of her choosing, on a Wheaties box.  (Very ingenious assignment, I must say.)  My daughter, being the cool cat that she is, chose Jack White; she's been his #1 child fan since she was in pre-k.  Honestly.  She heard "Hello Operator," and she was gone.  I now have all the music on my iPod, but there was once a time when, if I wanted to hear The White Stripes or The Raconteurs (The Dead Weather wasn't in the picture back then), I'd have to go into her room and snake the desired CD--she has them all.  She has posters of Jack all over her room, and she also loves anything and everything red, white, and black.  Diehard.

Back to the Wheaties box, now that I've proven her adoration.

We sat in front of the computer, searching for pictures of Jack for the front of her box, and we came to one I particularly liked.  Her reply was, "Oh, yeah--I saw that one at school today.  People thinks he looks like you in that picture.  They were like, 'Hey, Air, that one looks like your mom!'  I agree--he does look like you in that one."  Let me post the picture in question.  It is not my picture (obviously); I have no claim to it--I've lifted it from zmemusic.com (credit when credit is due!), but there's no other way to show what I'm talking about without posting it alongside the picture of me...

Me

Jack White

Okay.  It's the hair, right?  Honestly, I don't know how to translate this.  Should I be insulted?  Is this a good thing?  I still have no clue, but I think it's supposed to be a good thing, because Jack seems to be a popular dude in my daughter's school.  He's all kinds of awesome, anyway--talented to genius-level, artistic, and cute as all get-out (yes, mama is glad her kid's not a Bieber girl--the posters are much more to my liking ;)  ).  Alright, I resigned myself to it being a positive thing, and I moved along.  Until yesterday...

"We were discussing the color of your hair after school, and no one thinks it's dark brown.  It's black.  Everyone says so."  WTH?  Why am I a subject for fifth graders after school?  Are most moms talked about (other than "Your mama is so fat..." jokes)?  Am I a freak to them (most moms there don't talk to me, so it could be a distinct possibility)?  Am I a rockstar (sounds egotistical, but I was floored when a girl came up to me in the school hallway and asked if I was Air's mom, then proceeded to tell me that she'd been to my website and loves my fairies.  Truthfully, she said it like she wanted to ask for my autograph--how cool is that?  It completely shocked me, but it made my week.)?  And when I walk the halls of the school, if my daughter is close by, there is usually a chorus of "Hey Air!  There's your mom!  Your mom is here!" and taps to her shoulder.

But what does being the repeated topic of after school conversation mean?!?!?! Most people wouldn't think twice--"It's just a bunch of kids, for heaven's sake!"  They'd think.

But...

Fifth grade was hard on me when I went through it.  I was "THE FAT KID."  And when kids talked about me, it was for nothing good.  In fact, even though I lost the weight before my freshman year, I turned goth in high school for that very reason--gave people something external to talk about, rather than give them the possibility of talking about something that bludgeoned the internal.  Back then, being odd was taboo.  Now, being different is the goal, and the purple hair that my friends and I got tortured for back in the day is even on Barbie.  Is there a possibility that, as an adult, the quiet eccentricity that I've maintained all these years (but that I've toned down to a respectable 30-something level) still doesn't resonate with the people who were the "elite" of my generation but earns me a spot of "cool" with their kids?  As a writer of Young Adult fiction, I can tell you that it'd make me proud if it were the case, because kids aren't "just" to me.  Kids are brutally honest and complex, and it takes something to earn their respect and attention (I was a teacher--I know this, not always with good outcomes).  

My past, I suppose, makes me wonder a little more than the next person about the "why" and the "what."  For now, though, I'll take the positive outlook on it all.  Being told I look like Jack White is far better than what I used to hear out of fifth grade mouths.  And if the kids who don't know me swing to thinking I'm "okay," maybe even a bit "cool," maybe one day my own will, too.  I doubt I'll ever hear it from her mouth, but maybe she'll at least think it.  After all, apparently I almost resemble her hero.