Half-Pint Heroes

~ This post is dedicated to Trish-the-Fish, the most kick-ass three-year-old I have ever known.~

"What are you looking at? You think something's funny here? Huh, do you?" I know what you're thinking, and no, this is not taking place in an Italian restaurant, littered with shady looking violin-cases, tubs of wet cement surrounded by blubbering men rambling incoherently about sleeping with the fishes, and dignified grandpa-types slumped suspiciously over plates of half-eaten cannoli. No, these words aren't even emanating from some low-class goonda, whose exaggerated outer appearance belies a bovinely placid interior. Think smaller, actually a lot smaller. Somewhere in the region from around mid-thigh to the tops of your knees, depending on how tall you are.

These audacious words were actually those of a tiny three-year-old, addressed with the greatest indignation to a grown man 47 years older and probably ten times her size. Sounds ridiculous, right? But then again, you haven't met Trish-the-Fish.

When I first saw Trish-the-Fish, she was just newly arrived from Dubai at her grandparents' home in our native place in India. I was also on a mandatory visit with my family (Trish's grandfather is my father's uncle), and as tends to happen on all coerced visits to elderly family members you see for half an hour once every couple of years, the evening was not going so well. I had already stated my name and what year I was currently studying in school, which was the extent of my expected contribution to these visits year after year. That left the rest of the evening free to sip away heartily at the ever-present cool drinks and to sit back and observe the proceedings that were about to unfold.

Dressed from head to toe in a rosy pink, Dora the Explorer sandals adorning her tiny feet, Trish-the-Fish resembled in appearance the quintessential girly-girl. After a few minutes of watching her, it became evident that she was definitely nobody's little princess, though. Sandwiched on either end of the age spectrum by brothers, Trish-the-Fish proved to be a rambunctious tot who could hold her own among the boys. Already she had managed to become the chief of a group of kids on her street, all of whom she had met mere hours before and many of whom were older, taller and a whole lot bigger. All good and well for a kid who couldn't even tie her own shoelaces, but her piece de resistance was yet to be revealed: Trish-the-Fish had a mouth (and a colossal attitude to match).

I think the first indication of the night that Trish-the-Fish would not become one of those nameless, faceless kids I had met over the course of my lifetime and whose lack of individuality was, to be frank, thoroughly depressing, came when the aforementioned words popped out of her mouth. Hearing her speak those words was incredibly surreal, almost "like firing a fifteen inch shell at a piece of tissue paper and having it bounce back at you", as Ernest Rutherford so eloquently put it. As amusing as it was to see adults put into their place by the chastising, fire-brand three-year-old, Trish-the-Fish had an aura about her that commanded admiration and a profound respect.

First and foremost, it takes some serious balls to talk back to an adult, especially within the Indian context (Does "somebody gonna get a hurt real bad" ring a bell for anyone here?) I kept waiting in my seat with bated breath for the moment when Trish-the-Fish would finally receive a resounding slap to shut her up, a moment which thankfully never came. I for one, would never have, and still never will, get away unscathed with saying the things she said that night, and true to form, my mom spent a good portion of the auto ride back home expounding her theory that a good smack to the back of Trish-the-Fish's head would have set her straight.

I think what impressed me more about Trish-the-Fish's totally unexpected tirade was the motive behind it and what it said about her character. Trish-the-Fish's transformation that evening from adorable chatterbox to foul-mouthed Amazon was instigated largely by our attitude towards her, and all other little kids for that matter. Try as you might to hide it, but most adults, unfortunately, have developed this complex towards little kids wherein they feel obligated to publicly dissect the poor child's personality, habits, vices, etc., all when the child is also present. How many times have you heard some variation of this at a party: "You are so lucky. Your Timmy is so sweet, helping out around the house like that. Meanwhile, my Bobby still wets the bed and leaves his clothes all over the floor."In a despicable attempt to condition their children's behavior, I have witnessed many a patronizing parent utilize this technique to encourage their kids to continue commendable behaviors and shame them into relinquishing their not so commendable quirks. Like some sort of twisted, medieval punishment, the poor, manipulated children wear the testimonials to their crimes conspicuously: smug, strutting demeanors on the exalted, and humbled, beet-root red ones for the shamed.

Trish-the-Fish was the first kid I had ever met who saw through the ruse and took matters into her own hands. She refused to take the baloney that the adults were force-feeding her, all about how adorable she was and how refreshing it was to hear her endless chatter. When she finally reached her breaking-point and unleashed her fury on the adults, every fiber of her defiant being screamed:"How dare you talk about me as if I were not in the same room and as if I can not hear everything you say? Who do you think that you are, talking down to me as if I were your pet monkey and not a person just like you? Just because I am small, it doesn't mean that I have to fit your conventions about how you think I should behave. I am my own person and I will do things on my own terms." I had never seen someone of such a tender age exhibit such a sense of self-worth and confidence, and needless to say I was bowled over. It takes true courage to be able to say what you want to say, publicly and uncensored.

My one wish for Trish-the-Fish is that she may continue to find the encouragement to freely speak her mind, even if for only a little while longer. The time will inevitably come when the world will have taught her to doubt herself and all she believes in, when she will feel the need to tread as lightly around people as if they were fragile figurines carved of glass, and when she will hide her true thoughts and feelings for fear of rejection and ridicule. Until that time comes, I hope that the people around her will continue to shield her and encourage that simple innocence she demonstrates as a beacon of truth in a sea of lies and deception.

And so I salute Trish-the-Fish for teaching me what it truly means to have a spine and for encouraging me to be brave enough to speak the truth, despite the consequences.