Beauty

Beauty is defined by Websters’ Dictionary as, “the quality or the aggregate of qualities in a person or thing that gives pleasure to the senses or pleasurably assaults the mind or spirit.”  When I was growing up, that is not a word or definition that I would have attached to myself.   My brother was beautiful in many ways… physically pleasing and well loved by many for his character and actions.  My mother was beautiful… physically and had a gracious loving soul that was the same.  I could have gone for cute, but my younger sister had that covered from day one of her life.  So I pretty much just thought of myself as smart and surviving in the middle somewhere for a very long time.  And, this is in spite of the fact that my brother told me nearly every day that I was the love of his life and a beautiful sister.

At some point, those of us who think like me have to break out of the mold though.  We have to take a stand for ourselves. And, because my mother was uncomfortable talking to me about the things little girls should know as they grow up, I was pretty much on my own with this breaking out stuff.  (And I don’t fault her for that… she was one of those natural beauties who didn’t even have to shave her legs!)

So!  In the seventh grade, I began to look at myself in a more clinical fashion.  Did I want to live with the rules that made my mother beautiful which didn’t fit me, or did I want to belong to my own generation?  Did I want to be a canvas never painted upon, did I want to start taking care of myself in a different way?  I chose the latter with both courage and trepidation.

I recall thinking to myself,  “My body is changing.”   I took a serious look at my legs, I chose to step out of my shell just a little and I swiped my brother’s razor to shave my legs!  I recall only cutting myself a little the first time…  but by the third or fourth time I was getting pretty good at it.  My confidence grew.

Then one evening as I was walking past Tom’s bedroom door he said, “Sis, I have something I want to talk to you about.”  I thought, here it comes… I’m getting my tale kicked for using his razor.  I had known this would come.  Having weighed the outcome, I squared my shoulders and prepared to be embarrassed in front of the person I respected most.

I stepped into his room and sat down on the bed across from him, legs folded Indian style.  He waited about maybe ten seconds while he sat there forming how he was going to talk to me. ( He often did this when he thought what he was going to say was really important.)  The feeling of embarrassment rose inside me; the pain of seriously disappointing someone I adored grew like weeds in a garden. That said, I had wanted to grow up so badly that I did what I did in spite of understanding that I should have asked his permission.

Finally he looked at me and began.  I remember his words, can hear his voice saying them, can see that half cocked grin of his as he said, “Sis, you did the right thing.  I know Mom and Dad don’t say much to you and I didn’t know how to bring it up.  But I can tell you the result of what you did.  Some of the guys noticed that you started shaving your legs and they think it looks great. I wanted to say something about you doing it… shaving your legs, but you climbed off the shelf all BY yourself!”

I was both mortified (His friends noticed! Oh good grief!) and thrilled (His friends noticed?  Oh good grief!).

I started to say I was sorry for not asking him if I could use his razor; he stopped me mid-sentence.  “Sis, I know you didn’t know how to talk to me about this.  We’ve always talked… about everything…  You are becoming a young woman and some things will be difficult to say to me now.  Just remember that I support your decision with this one… the razor… and I don’t care if you continue to use it.  It’s okay with me.”

I leaped across the bed and gave him a big bear hug!  I cried.  He laughed at me.  He continued, “You can come talk to me about anything you want, Sis.  It’s between us.  I love you.”  (I used his razor until I moved out of our parents’ house.)

This was the first time I ever felt like I was pretty.  I think every woman has a moment in her life when she recognizes that she is different… a young woman.  I was very blessed that Tommy gave me mine with such grace.

Since then, I have been told many times that I am a beautiful woman.  I frequently didn’t listen after I became a mother… when motherhood entered in, it was no longer about me… it was about my four sons and their father.

But as they grew up and went out on their own, things began to come back to a focus on me.  I was at our oldest son’s wedding dinner.  It went like this.

One of the guests was a doctor and his wife who had known all of our sons and me as patients.  He asked me to sit with him a moment so he could talk to me…  He said this.  “Carolyn I have just had conversations with your aunts and your mother.  They are very beautiful women.  But you need to know something that I don’t think you realize.  You are a beautiful woman too.  The way you raised your sons, your personal character, your choices, your courage, and your stature.  I admire you very much.  But know this:  You will age, but you are a woman who will never ever be old.  You spine will bend but you will always walk tall.  And those eyes that see the ages will never grow dim until God comes for you.  You need to know that you are a very beautiful woman… for the rest of your life.”

That definition at the top of the page?  I give it to you.  Believe in the life you are living and love well.  And, that definition will belong to every man and woman who reads this.

I believe you are beautiful!  Do you?

Best… Carolyn Thomas Temple