Beauty and the Bestest

Many people have commented on the way I look right now and I have to admit I love that!  It is wonderful to hear nice things about myself, but there was a time when I wanted to look nice because it would bring on those comments.

Everything in my world seemed to indicate that if I could look like Marilyn Monroe, or Twiggy, or some other popular icon, I would be okay.  Even my father who obviously admired and respected many learned women led me to believe that a woman’s looks were equally as important as her accomplishments.  Most men had only to be clean and neat and intelligent to be exceptional and my mother reinforced that fact by the way we lived.

When my father was home we ate in the dining room.  When he was sleeping we waited for breakfast.  Meals were much more involved if he was there.  He was the only person in the house that had a room specifically designated as his alone, his office. 

I wanted to grow up to be my father and look like my mother, neither one of which was remotely possible.

I did grow up and I became a mother and those children were the best thing that ever happened to me.  They were the best teachers I’ve ever had.  Love is a powerful force.  They loved me because I was their mother and I loved them because they were my children.  Simple.  Plain.  Perfect.

And then, as I entered what were supposed to be the twilight years I met one more child who chiseled away at the shell I had grown over the years to reveal a new Pygmalion statue or Pinocchio, or perhaps just another Velveteen Rabbit.

It turns out the old stories are true.  Love makes us real and beauty does not exist to make us lovable, but love exists to make us beautiful.