Tonight, we are here to celebrate our second-born, our deeply feeling, surprisingly confident, enigmatic and endlessly entertaining daughter, Odette. Or, as she is known in our house—Odie, Odes, O, or simply ‘the family member most likely to stack it and injure herself on a completely flat surface.”
Odie has always done things in her own way, in her own time, on her own planet. And when I first looked into those huge blue eyes on February 16th 2007, I knew this child was built differently.
Odie was a dream baby; we called her our little Buddha. She slept well, ate well and never cried. She was our giant, beautiful bald egg, and everyone loved her the minute they laid eyes on her.
Odie has always been a foodie—so much so that when she learned to walk, we had to put a lock on the fridge. More than once, we found her hanging from that lock in the dead of night, like some kind of adorably unhinged raccoon trying to crack a safe. Her dedication was both impressive and deeply alarming.
When she was in prep, all the kids were asked what they wanted to be when they grew up. We didn’t find out her answer until we got the school yearbook at the end of the term. Flicking through, I saw the usual suspects—doctor, astronaut, teacher. And then, my eyes landed on one unusual word—a word not usually associated with occupations. And in my heart, I knew. I didn’t even have to check the name of the child. Because, of course, Odie didn’t want to be a firefighter or a vet, no – She wanted to be a banana.
One of my favourite things about Odie is that she has never let reality get in the way of her confidence. She has, for years, maintained an unfounded and, quite frankly, delusional belief in her sporting abilities. She has done little to no training and has never been interested in improving, yet she has boldly declared that she could outrun, out-jump, and out-wrestle anyone who dared challenge her. And honestly? I believe her.
She has a similar level of confidence when it comes to singing show tunes—despite the fact that she grew up in a Broadway-obsessed household. Her sister Marchella knows every word to every song. Yet, Odie will happily stand beside her and butcher an entire musical number, at full volume, with incorrect lyrics and zero shame.
But, if you ask her, the true love of her life is not a sport, or a show tune, or even a human—it’s Roy, our dog. Odie has always loved Roy the most and best, and he loves her. He sends his apologies for not being here tonight. He’s far too anxious to be around this many people. Fun fact: Odie is the reason Roy still has his balls; Roy is a camp, effeminate gay man trapped in a cavoodle, and Odie felt it would be too much to take away his only trace of manhood.
Odie, you are creative, kind and sensitive and most importantly—you’re the first person to offer to, and I quote, ‘cut a bitch’ should I require it. Which, honestly, is the kind of unwavering support every mother needs.
I love how you operate purely on vibes; while your sister is a meticulous planner, you are the YOLO queen, always convinced you’ll figure it out when you get there.
You are smart in all the ways that matter. A brilliant artist. A fiercely loyal friend. And not surprisingly, you’ve become one of my most trusted and wise advisers over these past few months.
Odie, my love— we see you. Dad, Chella Elio and I see you for the strong, brave, clever, creative, unique and cool human that you are. And our greatest wish for you is that you never change.
I will leave you all with a story that, even when it happened, I knew I’d be telling at her 18th birthday party.
Odie was in grade one, and we had just moved house. Everything was still in boxes in the garage. We were running late for school because we couldn’t find her drink bottle. I told her to go to the garage and look in the box full of dress-ups, as logically, that is where I had also packed kitchen stuff.
She yelled, “Found one, it’s pink!” and I said, “Great, pop it in your bag and let’s go”
Later that day, I received a phone call..
“Hello”
“Hello, Em, this is Sam from the school.”
“Is Odette ok?”
“Yes, she is fine. I am calling about something she bought to school with her.”
“Oh really? What did she bring to school with her?” –
My mind was racing at this point; there were inappropriate things floating around my house.
“As you know, we encourage the students to bring their drink bottles in and put them on the desk so they don’t need to leave the classroom to get a drink. Odette bought in a drink bottle that we feel isn’t appropriate for school.”
“She went out into the shed today to get a drink bottle, we are still unpacking, stuff everywhere.. She found one in the dress-up box… Oh no… My hens party stuff is in there…
Oh, dear. The drink bottle is pink, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
IS IT RUBBERY?
YES
“Is it, Sam is it shaped like a… penis?”
“Yes”
Yep, Odie had taken a giant dick-shaped drink bottle with her to school and popped it on her desk in front of her classmates and teacher.
Happy 18th, darling. May your confidence never waver, your fridge door be unlocked, and your drink bottles always be appropriately shaped.
