- I was the third child in my family, and my mom confessed that she didn’t want another girl after my sister.
- In order to avoid disappointment, I tried my best to be the perfect child.
- There was a time when my mom made me a t-shirt and misspelled my name, but it didn’t bother me.
I was originally supposed to be a boy named David, but my mother decided to make my middle name Danielle. Then, she unexpectedly named me Elana, pronouncing it like Alana instead of Ilana or Alana. These five letters characterized me and other kids who couldn’t find personalized items like keychains with their names. We were always reminded of the annoyance when people mispronounced our names.
I wasn’t my mother’s favorite child. My brother Josh received more attention and affection, along with personalized items. I longed for the same treatment.
One day, my mother revealed her true feelings, saying, “Well, once your sister was born, I didn’t want another girl.”
Even before I was born, I sensed this disappointment. It felt like my mother wanted a boy, so I strived to be the perfect child. I followed her instructions, ate when it was time, slept when she wanted, and hardly ever cried. I even let her cut my hair short and preferred spending time with boys over girls.
Finally, my mother decided to make a decal shirt for me. Instead of choosing something popular like Charlie’s Angels or Sean Cassidy, she wanted to include my name on the shirt. It was a symbol that she did want me, considering I couldn’t find store-bought keychains with my name. However, she made a mistake and spelled my name as EANA, forgetting the letter L. Undeterred, she added the missing letter with a black Sharpie, resulting in an arrow between E and A. I proudly wore that typo t-shirt for a whole year, cherishing it as my favorite because my mother made it for me.
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“Oh, dammit,” my mother exclaimed upon realizing the mistake. Without hesitation, she corrected it by adding the missing letter L with a black Sharpie, forming a big fat arrow between the E and A. I proudly wore that typo t-shirt for the entire year, even capturing photos to document its existence. Regardless of the faded caret and the remaining four letters EANA, I cherished it because my mother made it specifically for me.
I didn’t care about the mistake; it had my name on it, and that was enough. My mother’s creation made me feel special, surpassing the significance of any store-bought keychain. In the end, I became my mother’s favorite.
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