I am an Unattractive Mother Raising Beautiful Daughters

I'm not society's idea of beautiful. I own that. I'm not seeking compliments or for anyone to disagree, I just know that a perpetually chubby, often disheveled woman with strong features and a large nose isn't society's idea of beauty. As I get older, I'm becoming much more okay with this fact, even as there is lingering pain over such memories as no one telling me that I was beautiful on my wedding day.  I have so many other things about me that are beautiful and, frankly, I have better things to worry my mind about. 

I also happen to have two beautiful daughters(and one handsome son). Watching the world react to my daughters has been an education in itself for me. The world at large treats attractive females differently, in both ways good and bad. I have a unique vantage point as their mother, who tends in her plainness to blend into the woodwork and not be noticed(a plus, actually, for this introvert Mama). My daughters, unlike me, are noticed everywhere we go. They are complimented on their hair, their fashion sense, their bright blue eyes. Yet, no one asks them about the books they are reading or their school work or what things they might love outside of their own appearance. They are so much more than their pretty faces but the older woman at the grocery store, the mailman dropping off packages and the secretary at the doctor's office don't know that my daughters are talented dancers, love reading and have a wicked sense of humor among many other things. What they do know is that my daughters are beautiful and that fact sometimes seems to overshadow everything else. 

 When I was growing up the attention always went first to my little sister. She was a petite blond-haired beauty. The compliments would go to her first- "so pretty!", "what a cute dress!" and so on. Then they would stumble onto me, stammering over what to say.  They would ask about school(straight a's), what book I was reading(I carried books with me everywhere) or something similar. My lack of beauty in many ways allowed me to pursue my intellectual pursuits and receive positive attention over the things that I loved to do, not the way my exterior looked. In that way, it was a great blessing and made me who I am today. 

I want my daughters to be encouraged in the same ways. I want them to embrace their physical beauty but I want so much more for them. I want them to know that beauty fades but the time that they spend on what is inside will never leave them. I want them to have a chance to be whatever they were meant to be without society pigeonholing them into tiny beautiful pegs.

 I am coming to terms with my own looks, in part as I see myself reflected in their beautiful faces- my nose(yes, the large one!) on my youngest daughter's gorgeous face, my hair and eyes on my middle daughter. The features that I once loathed now seem so lovely on their precious faces. I am also recognizing that my appearance, the mediocrity of it, was just as much a gift as my daughters' beauty is to them. My plainness gave me wings to fly beyond those mired in outwardness. Now I must be sure that my daughters are given the chance to own their beauty AND fly towards their forever purpose. Now that, my friends, would be truly beautiful.

 

In Search of Freedom

I've been thinking about my teenage self, a girl who heavily embraced non-conformity and had great disdain for the docility of traditional suburban life.

 I've wondered if she(the old me) would have a haughty insolence towards my current self and the choices that I have made.

 However, tonight-- while listening to music from my teenage years and riding down the road with my husband, I put my hand out my window to feel the wind as I used to do years ago and I had a moment of clarity. Sixteen year old Mandi and Thirty-six year old Mandi have always wanted the same thing, although they may have envisioned it in different forms- we want to be free.

One last lesson

Ten years ago I attended the funeral of a woman who wasn't terribly kind. At her funeral the priest asked if anyone would like to say a kind word about her and no one moved to speak.  No one. Not her family, or the scattering of friends inside the church. The silence was deafening.  Everyone turned and looked around for a brave soul to stand but there were no words to be said. I left with a heavy heart and a sick feeling of a life wasted.

A very short time later I attended the funeral of my grandfather, perhaps the kindest man I had ever known after he left us suddenly in a car accident.  The same priest asked for volunteers to speak and person after person stood and recounted the many ways that this man had impacted their lives.  The fullness of his life reverberated off of the walls in that sacred space and there was a reverent silence among us as we took in the measure of a life well lived. We all left with full, if sorrowful hearts, certain that he had left his mark on the world before he departed. It was the first time that I  pondered what may be said after my final breath.

I have thought of this final lesson everyday since, and it reminds be to be kinder, live fuller and love more.

My Grandpa taught us to be humble. His humble spirit probably shrugged off the kind words spoken on that day, if indeed he heard the words from his new angelic home—in his mind sure that he should have done more. I wish that I had told him more than just an ‘I love you’. I wish that I had told him that he was the greatest man that I ever knew. He would have just shaken his head in embarrassment, but I wish that I had told him anyway. I did not tell him in life, but I did tell that room of people those exact words, among others. 

You know that expression, that someone would give the ‘shirt of his back’. That was my Grandpa. He lived his life gifting his time, his money, his life to others. He gifted silently and many were not aware of the ways that he was out there saving the world, one person at a time. As a father who, before his time-- would change a diaper and do midnight feeding, as a firefighter, as a business owner that donated his time and money to many causes, as a friend whom you could count on even in the middle of the night, as a grandfather that would love you as fiercely as anyone could…he lived his life serving others.

He left us on Memorial Day in 2006. He was in what seemed to be a minor car accident and was ever so suddenly gone from this Earth. Memorial Day seems such an appropriate day for him to leave us- we have remembered him every single day since. In many ways, the ways that we live our lives is a memorial to him everyday. 

The lessons that he left will live on forever. His eight children, seventeen grandchildren, his great grandchildren and friends and family will remember forever his kindness, love without boundaries, humility and willingness to learn new ways even until his last days(he taught me that there is no wisdom without open-minded learning) will stay on this Earth at least as long as we carry on his ways.

Thanks for the final lesson, Gramps. I love you even more today than the day you left us. Ten years have passed but your lessons remain.

 I’ll see you on the other side.