[LJ Idol: Topic 3] My smile is my own
I am a woman, and my smile is my own.
Pretty radical concept when you think about it, isn't it?
It starts so young: "Smile for Mommy, honey."
"Smile for Daddy."
"Smile for Grandma!"
"Smile for this camera, so I can send pictures of my pretty pretty girl to all the great-aunts and third cousins that you don't even know!"
And then it goes from family, to family-that-might-as-well-be-strangers, to actual strangers on the street:
"Why aren't you smiling, honey?"
"Aw, come on, smile!"
"Fine, don't smile! Bitch!" Or worse and less printable insults.
And of course, because I have the nerve to be fat:
"You have such a pretty smile..."
"Such a pretty face...if only..."
If only I would lose ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred pounds. If only I would cut my hair shorter, or grow it longer, or curl it, or straighten it, or comb it more neatly, or part it on the side instead of in the middle. If only I would wear more makeup, less makeup, different makeup. If only I would stand up straighter, or shrink myself down somehow because I'm too tall already. If only I would wear something other than what I happen to be wearing.
I would be beautiful, if only I weren't the me that I am. And then I would have to smile. But then I shouldn't smile so much, because it would be a stuck-up superior smile that says, "I'm better than you!" to all the allegedly un-beautiful people out there.
And it can be so easy, so easy to fall into the honey-smile trap myself. I have little girls with beautiful smiles, and of course I want to see more of those smiles. But I want those smiles to be the real thing, not a sarcastic flash of teeth or a reluctant half-smile.
My task, then, instead of telling them to smile, is giving them reason to smile. If they want.
My child's smile is - MUST BE - her own. Just like the rest of her body.
I can offer my children no less than what I demand for myself.
Pretty radical concept when you think about it, isn't it?
It starts so young: "Smile for Mommy, honey."
"Smile for Daddy."
"Smile for Grandma!"
"Smile for this camera, so I can send pictures of my pretty pretty girl to all the great-aunts and third cousins that you don't even know!"
And then it goes from family, to family-that-might-as-well-be-strangers, to actual strangers on the street:
"Why aren't you smiling, honey?"
"Aw, come on, smile!"
"Fine, don't smile! Bitch!" Or worse and less printable insults.
And of course, because I have the nerve to be fat:
"You have such a pretty smile..."
"Such a pretty face...if only..."
If only I would lose ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred pounds. If only I would cut my hair shorter, or grow it longer, or curl it, or straighten it, or comb it more neatly, or part it on the side instead of in the middle. If only I would wear more makeup, less makeup, different makeup. If only I would stand up straighter, or shrink myself down somehow because I'm too tall already. If only I would wear something other than what I happen to be wearing.
I would be beautiful, if only I weren't the me that I am. And then I would have to smile. But then I shouldn't smile so much, because it would be a stuck-up superior smile that says, "I'm better than you!" to all the allegedly un-beautiful people out there.
And it can be so easy, so easy to fall into the honey-smile trap myself. I have little girls with beautiful smiles, and of course I want to see more of those smiles. But I want those smiles to be the real thing, not a sarcastic flash of teeth or a reluctant half-smile.
My task, then, instead of telling them to smile, is giving them reason to smile. If they want.
My child's smile is - MUST BE - her own. Just like the rest of her body.
I can offer my children no less than what I demand for myself.