I have never been, am now not, nor will I ever be what is considered “beautiful”. I am, in fact, an “almost” or “if only” girl. “If only” I would:tan, straighten my hair, stand up straight, wear contacts, grow out my fingernails, wear something other than sweatshirts and sweaters…I could be so pretty. They are hurtful, the things people say, but, the older I get, the more I think…seriously? I’ve worn glasses since before I was in school. I’ve lived near the Equator and didn’t tan then, so why should I try now. I like my sweaters and sweats…you can’t work in the shop I do with prissy prissy clothes. And my hair? It is what it is and will be what it will be. I’d rather work on my heart, anyway. But…I recently flashed back to seventeen year old me. I went to school with pretty pretty people ya’ll. It was the age of tanned, long legged, big haired, short skirted cheerleaders. I was still in lace and pearls and bows. And I was crying. On my bed, sobbing. Daddy asked me why and I said “I’m not beautiful.” Daddy, being Daddy, immediately stammered “Yes, you are.” “No, I’m not,” I cried. “Not like THEY are.”
I’m a long way from seventeen now. I’m a long way from the bows and the lace. But I have worked with little girls who have grown into young ladies. And they are beautiful. Every single one of them. And you know what? They are not all tanned. Or blonde. Or contact wearing. Or have smooth skin or hair. They don’t all wear short skirts. Some of them sing. Some of them cheer. Some draw. Some ride horses. Some play all kinds of ball.
But they are beautiful. And I hope they NEVER NEVER look around at all the other girls out there and sit on their beds crying.
Because they are super
And fantastic
And awesome
And wonderful
And beautiful
Just they way they are.
Really.
They are.