Thumbing through a stack of old pictures, Elena found some black and white photos of Aunt Day I'd taken eighteen years ago.  She was draped in a Mexican blanket, but her big tummy was exposed, eight months pregnant. I had loved that she asked for these pictures--as in my day, nobody would have considered exposing what's now called a "baby bump."

"These are beautiful," Elena said, running her finger along the curves.

"Look, Daddy!" she said, walking into the living room to show him the three black and white photos.

He feigned shock.  "I don't think I want to see pictures of my sister half-naked," he said, grinning--to which she said, "Oh ye-eah, True-Dat!"

She has comic timing, a quickness of response that penetrates the usual filters and cracks us up. She's never been to Louisiana Bayou country, so we wondered where she'd gotten the phrase True-dat.

There's a presence in children that adults--if they pay attention, which her family does--makes everyone laugh in recognition (and appreciation)  of sudden bursts of truth-telling.  Like, "Yenna, you need to shave your legs better on the back." Or "Please tell me you're not wearing that!  I'd be so embarrassed!"

She's also too young to be ashamed of her opinions.  Adults listen to her and value her thoughts.  (I went straight home and shaved the back of my legs)

She recently rejected an art book I'd gotten for her at the thrift shop "because artists always draw naked people."  But when she saw a black and white photo of someone she knows, she was arrested by the beauty of it.

Maybe at this point, she can love the bodies of people she knows (if they shave their legs right) but is not quite ready for painted bodies of ancient strangers?