Funny story. My son went missing in Target and they wouldn’t give him back to me.
He was three years old, I lost sight of him for a millisecond and (as I discovered later) a Target employee did the right thing and took him to the information counter.
It took the store about two minutes to announce over the loudspeaker that they had found a little boy, just as I was making my way over to report him missing. Imagine my relief as I sprinted from the other side of the store, hoping it was him.
At the information desk, I asked, “Where’s the little boy?” The lady indicated to a closed office behind her and said, “He’s in there. But he’s not your son.”
He’s not my son. How would she know?
So I asked her that. Calmly, she repeated, “He’s not your son. Trust me, he looks totally different to you.”
Not calmly, I replied, “Listen, I can’t find my son, so I need to know if that boy is mine, otherwise someone has got him and I need to call the police.” I stared around me thinking that no one else has come to claim this mystery child, so why not let me have a go! I darted behind the counter to slap the woman, oops I mean to see the child for myself. The Target lady stepped in my way but I was too quick – a mum missing a child is wily like that. I opened the office door. There was my beautiful, darling little son. I scooped him up and burst into tears. I stormed out of the office with him and screamed at the woman:
“JUST BECAUSE WE AREN’T THE SAME COLOUR DOESN’T MEAN HE’S NOT MY SON!”
Cue storewide silence.
So, yes. My son and I have skin that are different colours to each other’s. His is alabaster white. Think Edward Cullen from Twilight, complete with the same Mars Bar caramel eyes and hair. My skin is chocolate/olive and I have dark chocolate eyes. Think Beyonce. (Ha ha, just kidding, more like literally think an olive covered in chocolate.)