North Star Writers Group

The Attack of the Clones is no longer science fiction. It’s here. It’s happening before our very eyes. I, for one, am scared! Not of the aliens hailing from other planets (and their relatives i.e. Katie Holmes’s baby), but of the Clones living right next door to all of us.

Every time I see one, I close my eyes and think back to something my parents taught me when I was very young. It seems to be a foreign concept to anyone younger than my own Generation X, and to anyone living in zip codes starting with “9-0,” but I try to recall it.

I think it was “It’s what’s on the inside that counts.”

It’s a good thing I remember this. Because my friend Stephanie wears her sweaters too tight. She believes that if you’ve got it, flaunt it. Then there’s my friend Marty, who wears a lot of purple because wearing purple makes him happy. Shouldn’t he wear gray or burgundy and be J. Crew-model-melancholy -cool?

Oh, the horror of these fashion faux pas. But wait! I just looked in the mirror, and even though I am only 4’10, I am wearing flats again today. Comfort over the extra two inches I need to look “tall?” Have I gone mad?

Quick! Back to that memory! It helps me realize that if the three of us – me, Marty and Stephanie – were judged by our clothing, we wouldn’t be the CEOs or vice presidents of companies, or teachers of the year that we are in real life.

It’s great to make fun of Clones, but I have a serious question. I am looking down at my growing belly, and I know there’s a fifty-fifty chance that there is a girl in there. My question is – how am I going to teach her that same lesson my parents taught me?

I’ll have to compete with at least one of the following that is sure to infiltrate her existence: The television shows a) What Not to Wear; b) Extreme Makeover; c) Make Me Look Like a Celebrity; d) Dr. 90210; e) Nip/Tuck; or any picture of Lindsay Lohan, Paris Hilton or Mary Kate Olsen, all of whom do not have anything physically wrong with them, which of course, makes their behavior socially acceptable.

It was definitely easier for my parents. They didn’t have quite the television-inspired challenges that I have today.

So, thank you again, Hollywood, for making simple life lessons virtually impossible to teach with brilliant shows such as “What Not to Wear.” I sat through an episode in which a gal – a curvy, gorgeous woman with an electric persona to match – was made to look a certain way that I can only describe as “not her.” She looked rather defeated. Inspiring? Hardly.

On “Make me Look Like a Celebrity,” I saw a woman turned into Angelina Jolie before my very eyes. As soon as it happened, I literally could not remember HER name. And that’s okay with people?

So, how is my daughter going to believe me when I tell her that she is beautiful and perfect the way she is, when even family sit-coms that are on at 8:00 talk about breast implants? I can tell her, sure. The question is – how will I ever get her to believe me?

Even some of the women who might have served as role models – your Greta Van Susterens or your Patricia Heatons – are ruined for me because they couldn’t accept their talent, intelligence and tenacity as enough to be proud of.

Of course, children can learn by example. I won’t be wobbling around in three-inch heels to try and pretend I’m tall. My husband isn’t going to pay thousands of dollars to have his extra tooth extracted – we can’t afford it and he’s kind of adverse to unnecessary pain. And Stephanie isn’t going to stop wearing the clothes that match her personality to a tee.

Thank goodness I can introduce my daughter to all of these folks and more. Most likely, I can still introduce her to most of you. We non-clones are still here. We’re still among the happy and the successful. I just think we need to be careful. The Clones are always lurking in the shadows, ready to prey on our young.

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This is Column # CD5. Request permission to publish here.