I know, I know! I am scraping in at the last possible moment with my school picture. Let’s face it. I hate pictures of me. I always have. I have always thought I looked ugly as hell in them. Why? It is probably because I never had a boyfriend in school. No one ever asked me to the prom. Boys didn’t notice I was alive, and because of that I thought something was wrong with me. As the years went by if they did spark an interest, I was sure there had to be something wrong with them and began to view them with disdain. Seriously, I did. I had issues and I am determined that neither of my kids suffer a similar fate.
Now that both of my kids are in school it seems the thing to do is to notice the opposite sex and hope to sunny Jesus for their approval. We all go through it, and yes it starts young. Just the other day my 1st grade son was worried that a little girl that everyone likes, and I do mean everyone, wasn’t in love with him. I sat him down and told him first off he was way too young to even be worrying about such a thing. Who truly cares what she thinks? The same thing is going on with my 6th grade daughter. She is also too young, but you can expect that kind of behavior. I have been to both schools and personally, I have seen absolutely no one that has crossed over into movie star gorgeous. Not one of these kids is all that with a bag of chips, and if they don’t think my kids are special…well the fault is with them. Yes, anyways I digress.
School pictures were painful reminders that I was not cute. Looking back, I may have bordered on cute in kindergarten before I became increasingly cynical but it went down hill from there. All week I contemplated marching my happy ass up to the attic to sift through mountains of pictures looking for examples of the dreaded school pictures that I could share for this writing prompt. Fortunately, or unfortunately fate stepped it. I have been working out lately in an attempt to lose weight. It seems an impossible task. What I got for my efforts this week was not the hoped for loss of pounds but a knee that hurt like a bloody bastard. To my disgust all the doctor’s office could offer for advice is that these things happen when you get old. WTF!!! That dirty word mental-pause keeps popping up in conversations and seems to be the flipping excuse for everything or the default excuse of a touch of arthritis from an active youth.
So here I am, awake at the butt crack of dawn on a Saturday ready to share my senior picture with the world. Of all the pictures, this one has to be the best. The irony is that on the day it was taken, it was damn near 90 degrees hotter than hell in July and I was dressed in an oxford shirt, sweater, and jacket sweating like a pig. At one point during this photo op the photographer noticed the gallons of sweat rolling off of me and decided to turn on this monster industrial fan. Meanwhile, I am standing precariously on tip-toes posed against this rather larger than life wicker chair. The fan went on, the photographer took position, and I lost my balance, and fell flat on my face laughing like an idiot. During that awkward display of balance and grace, he snapped this picture. Honestly it was the best one of the lot and the one my folks and I chose to invest big bucks in to purchase.
Remembering other school pictures I have taken I am just as happy I didn’t find them. They were littered with the infamous ones with boogers stuck in my nose one year, ugly grandma glasses from the 70’s, hairdos from hell, and outfits that I should have burned instead of worn for a picture. There was certainly nothing I wanted out there for the world to see. Even more disheartening is looking back on this particular photo and realizing I didn’t look half bad. Why is it always in hindsight that a person truly appreciates anything?
I am a person that freely hands out compliments. I guess I feel it is part of being nice and polite. When I am on the receiving end, it simply blows me away. There are times when I read the comments for the blogs I have written and am particularly moved when someone compliments me on my story or my writing. I am usually so moved; I have tears in my eyes.
Most of the time, I am apt not to believe people. The bad stuff is easier to believe. I have often wondered why compliments are so easy to hand out but so difficult to take in. Maybe it is because deep down we simply don’t believe anything good about ourselves. That is kind of depressing when you think about it, isn’t it?
Yesterday morning I visited my doctor for a monthly check up. He has had me on a diet to lose weight, strengthen my heart, and get healthy. Usually the waiting room is chock full of people, but yesterday it was empty except for me. I imagined that everyone was either at work or out voting. To my surprise my doctor emerged with my file in hand, smiled a smile that lit up his face, and said “Kathy! Hello! Come on back!” I quickly replaced my bookmark in my book, grabbed my purse, and hurried to follow him after I picked my jaw up off the floor. We passed his staff who were congregated in a close knit circle visiting amongst themselves as we went on to the exam room.
My blood pressure was good. He listened to my heart…still ticking and sounding good. Then it was time for me to step on the scale. To my disappointment, I had gained a pound. Crestfallen I went back to my seat. Damn! I was sure I had lost weight! Instead I had gained a pound. He patted my hand and reassured me that I was doing a fabulous job sticking to my diet. I probably hadn’t gone to the bathroom before I came. What??? My brain slammed in my head. I swear to sunny Je$us I had went. I had peed numerous times and went number 2 as well. What the hell? Should I have given myself an enema and endured a rousing bout of the $hits before I dared step on the scale? Of course I kept all these brilliant revelations to myself.
He watched me with a twinkle in his eye as I explained that I had watched my diet the very best I could. But hells bells, Halloween had happened. Hadn’t he noticed that? My husband was home!! He always is urging me to cheat on my diet. Surely a little piece of candy can’t hurt. Here have some breakfast sausages. They are so good!! Well yes, that is not the bloody point! The point is that Three Musketeer candy bars and maple flavored sausages are no where on my diet sheet. That is the bloody point!! It was at that point that I realized that I had spoken all this aloud. Embarrassed, I giggled a bit as I am prone to do.
“It is not like a snack size Three Musketeer candy bar and a couple sausage links will kill me, right?” My doctor assured me that as long as I followed my diet most of the time, a slip here and there wouldn’t kill me. “It is only a pound.” he said with a smile. “You are doing fine! I am so proud of you and how you are taking control of your life!” “If only I could exercise maybe I could actually lose more!” I lamented. It was then that the doctor gave me the proverbial golden key to the crapper. I could exercise. Yes indeed. He encouraged me to march over to the local mall at least three times a week and walk at least a mile, and increase the distance from there. The biggie was that I didn’t walk outside because the November cold air would do me in. My mind rejoiced in the possibility of having an excuse to rush to the mall on a regular basis. I have a pedometer. I can do this!! Who cares that I never have money to BUY anything? It is free to look, and that is good enough for me!! I HAVE to go for my health!! YAY!
It was then that he shocked me again. Out of the blue he told me “ You write very well. You should write a book!” The doctor had managed to shock me twice in the same day. Where did that come from? Even though yes, I do write, it never occurred to me that he of all people would have read any of it or that he knew that I write, let alone think that I was capable of writing a book anyone would ever want to read. I am not a person that blows her own horn. I am blown away by compliments. For some reason I have never felt I deserved them, but I am grateful and cherish each and every one like a precious gift. What can I say? If you give me a compliment, I like it until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.
Before I started school I had little doubt in my mind that I was beautiful because my mom told me all the time. She loved me. I was her little girl and I was beautiful to her. Once I reached school I discovered that I wasn’t the rest of the world’s idea of beautiful, and quite honestly the truth of it hurt.
As I got older my classmates let me know in no uncertain terms that I was ugly. I believed them. I looked in the mirror and believed every single word. I was too short. I had four eyes. I had braces on my teeth and my front teeth had failed to appear thanks to a too small palette and cruel twist of fate. Because of these flaws few of them took the time to get to know me. It probably wasn’t considered cool to be seen with me. At least that is what I imagined. What few friends I found moved on as soon as boys noticed they existed. I was teased, ridiculed, and made fun of. Sadly I believed everything they said.
At the time I remember getting a book that was titled how to become beautiful or something like it. It basically held between its pages beauty tips on how to make your hair shine and have flawless skin. I tried every trick in the book and still it didn’t help me. Years later while visiting a salon for a new style the stylist pulled out a can of Sexy Hair. When a few sprays of that didn’t seem to do the job she left and returned with an economy sized can. I had learned my lessons well. I told her it didn’t matter if she emptied a vat of the stuff on my head I still wouldn’t be sexy or beautiful. She didn’t know what to say to that but had the good sense not to attempt to sell me a can of the stuff.
During my school years I felt invisible. People would say hello back when I said hello to them and then they would go on their merry way leaving me alone. By the time a guy noticed I existed and told me he thought I was beautiful I had become forever jaded certain that something surely had to be drastically wrong with him to think so. Still there was that girl deep inside who hoped he really felt that way. It turned out there was a lot wrong with him. He was an alcoholic and a wife beater. Lucky me to have nabbed his happy butt! I was even luckier when he decided to leave without a backwards glance.
When I married again I found a man who really did love me. When he looked into my eyes I felt beautiful. It didn’t matter a tinker’s damn that no one else did. He did, and that is all that mattered. On our wedding day I found the prettiest dress I could and when I gazed into his eyes I finally felt beautiful. I believed it to be true. I knew in my heart he loved me, and I loved him in return. When the wedding pictures came back I proudly took them off to work to share them with my co-workers knowing that for the first time in my life not only did I feel I looked good in those pictures but I was even fooled into thinking I was beautiful if only for that moment.
I worked with the lady I had chosen for my matron of honor and as she was looking at my wedding pictures another co worker came up and started going on and on about how beautiful my friend looked in my wedding pictures. I was the bride for crying out loud, but once again I felt as if even on the most important day of my life when I was sure I had been beautiful I obviously had not been. Since when is the matron of honor more beautiful than the bride? I mean what the hell!! I snatched my photo album away and went back to my desk devastated.
Does beauty really matter all that much? Is it really necessary to spend thousands of dollars to have bigger boobs and perfection if deep inside you are an evil bitch to everyone you meet? It must matter to some or plastic surgeons wouldn’t be making a fortune. Still beauty to me goes far deeper. It is kindness and genuine smiles. It is exhibited best in those who love no matter what without conditions, someone who treats everyone exactly the same no matter what. True beauty comes even more apparent when you delve deeper than outward appearances and really discover a kind loving person within. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if people knew this instinctively from the get go that everyone is beautiful in their own special way? If only, until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.
In school I learned from my peers not to like myself much. According to them I was too short, had 4 eyes, and when my front teeth still hadn’t surfaced by 7th grade I was deemed a freak. I got a partial plate that year, and from that moment on if I wasn’t a freak before I surely was a freak there after. Certainly not good enough to be called a friend, especially by the bosom buddies I ran with who had just discovered boys. Worse yet when the boys had discovered them, I suddenly was regulated to the sidelines. They still said hello and made small talk, but from then on I became the loner that I am to this day. Over the years I have learned to accept it as fact.
Back then the rejection hurt. I didn’t understand it. It is not like I smelled. I wasn’t obnoxious. My mom used to tell me if I was nice to everyone, they in turn would be nice to me. My mom lived in her own fairy story where she was certain simply because a lot of people said hello when we went to football and basketball games that I had oodles of friends and therefore I was popular. I don’t think she ever believed me when I explained that they were merely people I knew, acquaintances at best. We didn’t hang, we didn’t eat lunch together, and we never ran around together on the weekends. When it got right down to brass tacks, I didn’t have close friends.
Marrying an abusive alcoholic when I was 19 didn’t improve my outlook on myself much. I should have said no but at that point I didn’t have the guts. The guy liked me enough to want to marry me, and even though I had clear misgivings I went through with it. In hindsight, it was the biggest mistake of my life. I should have had the balls to say no, shove my bridal bouquet right up his a$$, and run hell bent for election out of that church until I seen day light. Instead I said I do and endured 4 and ½ years of being that asshole’s punching bag simply because I wanted to be apart of a twosome. I know now I didn’t deserve that treatment, but at the time I endured it, was ashamed by it, and was certain I must have done something to deserve it or he wouldn’t have felt the need to dish it up.
I eventually found the balls to stand up to him, but at that point I didn’t do it for me. By then I didn’t give a tinker’s damn if he killed me. The one thing he wasn’t going to do was start bullying my mom. I stood up to him, and he divorced me. Evidently a punching bag with a backbone loses its appeal. Once my mom died, I embarked on a journey to find myself along a road littered with mistakes. In a last ditch effort to find happy ever after I paid a dating service to literally find me a husband. If they couldn’t I was resigned to live out the rest of my days alone. I had nothing to lose, and little confidence there was anyone decent out there who would want the likes of me. I paid forMatchmaker to find me a man with little hope that they would. Guess what, they did and I married him and had two beautiful kids. I gave up my full time job when the first arrived to be a full time mom and have been at it ever since.
By the time I hit my 4th decade of life on this planet I was beginning to wonder if all my life was going to amount to was wiping butts and noses. I prayed about it and almost instantly the opportunity to write online for this company fell into my lap. I began blogging, and slowly but surely found my voice. By the time I did, the company had gone under and I was left without a website, the small income they paid me, and once again grasping for straws. Fortunately I had learned from my experiences and I designed this website and continued on. Somewhere along the way I became a writer. It wasn’t something I imagined I would be doing, but I have found I can’t imagine life without doing it. I have no idea where my words flow from, only that they do. Words flow as easy as the air I take in and out.
After over 40 years of living , I still enjoy being quiet, although now my quiet is punctuated with giggles, a good dose of silliness, and the capacity to say just about anything. I no longer take anyone’s $hit and have no problem speaking my mind. I am happier now than I have ever been. I am capable of the outrageous, but at the same time walk the world with a fair amount of common sense. I am loyal and kind, incapable of dealing with drama, and as one dear blogging buddy recently said a straight shooter. I have a habitually sunny disposition and plenty of empathy and compassion for others. I expect very little, and celebrate everything.
I can handle anything life throws at me, even when I think I can’t, I manage. I can be hilariously funny without even trying and I have an amazing ability to find the funny in just about every situation. I have found a deep faith in G0d that sees me through anything life throws my way. I live daily with a smile on my face and a song in my heart. My self esteem issues have come a long way. I am me, like me, love me, hate me, take me or leave me, I am what I am for better or for worse until next time when I give you another glimpse into the life of a trucker’s wife.
