Mini-Me. Except a Girl. From China.

mini-me in hat

SD tickles the hell out of me. I call her Mini-Me, and it’s hard to believe the extent to which it’s true. I’m an old guy born long ago in New York City, she’s a young girl born almost six years ago in Luohe China, and yet…Parents with children from China are well-acquainted with the legend of the invisible red string connecting souls who are destined to somehow meet. (Red is the color of luck in China.)

When we first met in Zhangzhou China, she hated me. Once we got home, things changed pretty quickly. I noticed that she—again a little Chinese girl—looks a bit like this early picture of me. Take my word for it, and SD agrees with me.

me, not mini-me

It didn’t take long to realize we were two left-handed peas in a pod. SD is an irrepressible comedian, rolling away from Doc on the bed in hysterics the very first time she tried to change her. She’s totally a chip off the old knucklehead.

mini-me in bag

(I don’t plan to post identifiable pix of my daughters.)

She has an hilariously idiosyncratic view of things, one I know all too well, and she has me laughing all the time. I just asked her if she wants to play on my iPad while I finish this post, and she replied, “If I must.”

Then there’s her combining of odd foods—multiple mustards one day—and how often the combos are delicious, like my childhood A1 sauce/American cheese/mayonnaise/white bread sandwich.

SD keeps a complex family hierarchy of stuffed animals in bed like I did, and she wiggles herself under the covers so as not to have to unmake the bed just like I used to.

The list goes on and on.

And she’s cuddly and just incredibly sweet.

mini-me eats snow

Probably the best part is that I can watch her wheels turning any time I look. And it’s amazing how often I know just what she’s thinking, whether lost in thought or examining some object.

To have an adopted mini-me is mind-blowing: We’re not supposed to be connected biologically, even though we all really are. It’s amazing and so much fun.



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