I was fifteen years old the first time someone told me that I was beautiful.
I was jarred and taken aback.

No one had ever used that word to describe me before. Not even my mother. As a young girl I would often ask her, “Ma, do you think I’m pretty?”. She would be standing at the kitchen sink cleaning greens or in front of the stove frying chicken with her back towards me. “Yes Cynthia. I don’t have no ugly babies”, was always her answer. I would walk away wondering if she gave me the answer all mothers were supposed to give their children.

I was never called ugly but no one had ever called me pretty either. In junior high, I would spend hours in the mirror, dissecting my hair that never seemed to grow past a certain length, while examining and questioning the thickness of my lips, the chink in my eyes, my teeth that weren’t as straight as my sisters, and my father’s long face that only I had seemed to inherit. After careful examination, I concluded that I wasn’t ugly, so why couldn’t I get a boyfriend? Whenever me and my best friend would take the train to the mall, all the curly head, light skin boys would want to talk to her. I was always left to entertain their not as cute homeboy, as we sat in the food court practicing the art of flirtation at thirteen years old.

In seventh grade, I had a crush on a boy named Justin. He was taller, stronger and cuter than any other boy in my grade (but not as fine as Batman from Immature who I wa5became one of the “cool” kids. One day in Spanish class I told my friend Tiffany about my secret crush on Justin. We giggled about it and put our names next to each other on a piece of paper and came up with the names, Justin and I, would name our future children. When the bell rang I tossed the paper into the trash and headed to lunch. Unbeknownst to me, Tiffany thought it would be a good idea to tell Justin about my crush and to “hook us up”. I sat in lunch with the rest of my girlfriends, laughing and talking about whatever girls in junior high talk about. I looked up and saw Tiffany lean in to whisper something in Justin’s ear. The next thing I know I heard Justin say, “Ky? Eeeww!”. I was completely mortified and embarrassed. Tiffany called him an asshole and shoved and made her way to our end of the lunch table. She put her arm around my shoulders and whispered in my ear, “he’s just mad because he got left back”, she said. I somehow made it through the rest of the lunch period, but I do know that I kept my crush as Batman, it was much safer.

I was fifteen years old the first time someone told me I was beautiful.
I was jarred and taken aback.

I had just traveled twelve hours with my siblings to South Carolina to bury our grandmother. My family was all gathered at my grandparents house welcoming the out of towners like us and just to celebrate a life well lived. I was walking from the living room to the kitchen and my Aunt Dorothy, who we affectionately call Aunt Dot, came to greet us.

“These Billy children here?”, she asked to no one in particular, her accent laced with a southern twang.
“Yes ma’am”, we said in unison.

She leaned to give each of us a hug and a kiss. When she got to me she grabbed me by the shoulders and looked at me.

“This chile here is beautiful.”

I pulled away slightly, trying to see which cousin she was talking about.
“I’m talking about you,” she said when she realized my confusion.
“Thank you,” I said, slightly embarrassed.
“I mean all of yGa’ll are some good looking kids, but its just something about this one”, she continued while looking at me. After greeting a few more relatives I went back into my cousins room to unpack. The rest of the weekend was one emotional blur as we laid the rock of our family to rest, but I never forgot that moment, and every time I see my Aunt Dot I hug her extra tight.

To this day its hard for me to hear that I’m ‘beautiful’ even though I know I am. Somehow, some way I finally grew into my looks and I thank Jesus and all the heavenly hosts. But now I know my beauty goes way past and is deeper than my looks and it’s not just because my Auntie said so, I’m beautiful simply because God created me.

Ky

image source: Mother and child, during an outing at Chicago’s 12th Street Beach on Lake Michigan, August 1973. (John H. White/NARA) [x]