one direction preferences / imagines

your mixed child has identity issues

Harry - "Mama?" your five year old daughter murmured quietly, tugging on your hand. "Yeah baby," you smiled softly, scooping her up into your lap as you and your husband sat on the couch watching TV. "Why I look different?" she asked, and it honestly caught you off guard. "What do you mean you look different honey?" you questioned softly, rubbing her back. Harry looked over, sitting up a little bit more. "I don't look like daddy." She reached out and grabbed his hand, holding it up to her arm. "Daddy's lighter." You smiled softly, running a hand through her hair. "Well that doesn't matter does it sweetie? Yes, daddy is lighter, and I'm darker, but that doesn't mean he's not your daddy. It's just the way things work. You look like both mommy and daddy, and you're a beautiful little girl, inside and out." She looked up at you as Harry beamed at you. "Really mama?" "Really baby girl. No matter what people say, you are such a beautiful girl. No one can take that away from you."

Liam - "I'm so sick of it!" your 16 year old son exclaimed, throwing his backpack onto the floor. "Until those kids are dealt with, I'm not going back to school." Liam was the first one to speak up, standing in front of his son. "What are you talking about?" Your son looked up at his father shaking his head. "Every single day, I get called names because of my skin colour. They're so mean and nasty! The teacher's don't even try! I'm so sick of it!" he exclaimed, shaking his head. "They tell me I have to choose! They keep asking me if I'm black or white! And then they call me a mocha child and it pisses me off!" You let out a sigh and came to stand next to your husband. "We can come and talk to your principle?" you offered, chewing your lip. "Yeah, because I need more reasons to get picked on..." he grumbled. "Hey. The colour of your skin is not a reason to get picked on. Those kids are arrogant to even think that they can say those things to your face. You are an amazing kid, and the people who are your friends won't argue with me on that. Your heart and actions speak louder than words ever will."

Niall - "This is a letter your daughter wrote and I just thought you two should see it..." your daughter's 8th grade teacher spoke, handing you two the piece of paper. 'Dear future me, hi. Right now, I am in eighth grade. I am 14 years old and I live with my mom and dad. What I am struggling most with is with who I am. My dad is white, and my mom is black. It is not a bad thing for me, but I don't get why other kids think it is such a bad thing. They say mean things to me and make me feel bad. I don't want to make mom and dad sad, but I don't know who I am. I want to be happy, but I want to be accepted. I do have really good friends who I love a lot. And they love me. In the future, I would like to see people change. I want to see people accepting people no matter what, because in the end, all we have is ourselves. I don't want to be 90 and die knowing that other people aren't happy. We all deserve to be happy. I deserve to be happy. So when you get this, remember the struggle you went through, and just be yourself. Don't worry what other people say, because in the end, you're always going to be you.'

Louis - "Okay, sweetheart, something's been bothering you and we both can tell. Did you wanna talk about it?" Louis asked your 13 year old from across the dinner table. Immediately, her gaze fell to her plate and she got extremely quiet. "Love?" you added in, setting down your fork and knife. She shook her head and when she looked up, you could immediately see tears in her eyes. "Mom? Dad? Who am I?" she asked shakily, letting her eyes bounce between you and your husband. "What do you mean? You're our daughter and you're a wonderful human being with a heart made of gold." "That's not what I mean mom," she sighed, looking back over to you. "I mean like... who am I? Am I black, or white? Am I both or what? Because I have dad's hair and nose, but I have your lips and your hair. I'm not complaining, but I just don't understand what it means? Because I'm neither black or white and..." she sighed out again. "I'm just so confused..." Louis reached over to her and gently took your hand. "It doesn't matter. People will make you think it does, but god, it doesn't. There are always going to be people who refuse to accept any other race than their own, and it's sad. It's sad to think that people think that they have to go and belittle children and adults to make a point. But you, my darling, are a stunning young woman who doesn't need other people to tell you how to feel. What matters is that you're happy, and if you're not, we will both be here to help."

Zayn - Your baby was only eight months old when you began to see Zayn clearly evident in the features. "I'm worried..." you murmured softly, cradling the sleeping infant in your arms as you looked up at Zayn. "About what?" he replied softly, crawling under the covers with you. "I'm worried that when he gets older he won't understand why he looks exactly like his father, but not his mother..." you whispered, chewing your lip. "Baby..." your husband sighed, kissing your cheek softly. "When he starts growing up, you'll start seeing more of you in him. Maybe not looks wise completely, but his attitude might change into yours. And let's hope so because you have the most kind and caring personality I've ever gotten to know. And I know you'll take amazing care of him, and I will too. We're going to make sure that he realizes that no matter what he looks like, it's what's on the outside that matters. He'll learn that people aren't always going to accept him, but at the end of the day he'll always have us, and there will be no hate in this household. Against race, sexual preference... any of that." Chewing your lip softly, you nodded your head and kissed the baby's forehead. "He'll always know that..." "Good..." Zayn whispered, pulling you into his side. "Now get some sleep beautiful."