who’s the youngest looking and most beautiful of them all?
We live in a vain society. We care way to much about criticizing ourselves and “enhancing” our beauty. But could you believe that that not only effects our generation but generations prior? Specifically my grandmother’s.
My grandmother was born beautiful. Her mother was Black and Native American. Her father was Caucasian and Puerto Rican. She’s “light skinned” with gorgeous black hair (that she dyed to red and then to a kind of strawberry blonde), and these brown eyes that are rimmed with blue. She once had very full lips. Overall she’s aged relatively well. But my grandmother has a problem: she’s relied too much on her beauty. She’s beautiful, but my grandmother is mean. She talks about you even to your face and after years of showing her affection, that you love her will always be there for her, and will be patient and kind to her, she’s still never satisfied and will treat you like crap. And she does this to everyone; her children, grandchildren, friends, and her husband, the only man who is patient enough to love her and stand by her even through her insane accusations, bipolar personality, etc. All of my grandmother’s life people have dismissed her horrible actions because she’s pretty. My mother and I have this theory that she was one of the popular girls in high school and because she was pretty and popular and people wanted to be her friend, they enabled her to do and say whatever she wanted to them by dismissing and ignoring her actions. Anyways, because my grandmother is used to relying on her looks, she never wants to admit how old she is and she doesn’t like being older. She looks in the mirror and refuses to accept her age and how she looks. You could say its the Alzheimer’s that she suffers from. But she didn’t have Alzheimer’s when she told her first generation of grandchildren that they couldn’t call her grandma and to call her “Mama Brooks” and she sure as hell didn’t have Alzheimer’s when she insisted upon putting 4, 5, and 6 numbered candles on her birthday cakes. And she’s been lying about her birthday for decades. According to the government, her real birthday is actually several months earlier than her declared birthday. It’s insane. And we don’t even know how old she is. She’s so desperate to be young and to stay beautiful that she wants to deny reality. She doesn’t want to accept that she is getting older. Don’t get me wrong I love my grandmother to infinity and beyond. I love her wit, brutal honesty, and the fact that she’s still a fabulous glamourma. But I sort of pity her because if it wasn’t for the fact that the people around her loved her, we’d all leave her. Because her personality sometimes sucks. Our love is never enough for her. And all the beauty in the would can’t help that problem. And the other thing is that I bet if someone offered her a trip back in time to be young and more young and “beautiful” she would take it. I think she’d trade having her seven children, her beautiful, wonderful grandchildren, finding the kindest most wonderful man in the universe, and living a full life to be young and pretty again.
But me? I’m going to enjoy my old age. I’m going to bake and tell stories to my grandchildren. And enjoy watching my children grow up. And I’m going to love the experiences and the journeys that I’d have taken to get to wherever I’ll be in life. The more wrinkles, the wiser I am. Wisdom is sexy. I’m going to make a life for myself, that is worth living and worth enjoying even when I’m old. And besides, the older I get the more shoes I’ll have.