My Grandmother, Beauty, My Grandmother

Sunday, September 16th, 2012

An Insightful Look at Beauty an Essay by an Unbiased One Who Knows Very Little;
first, it must be made clear, if not already perceived from the title, this is a totally unbiased look at beauty and what it takes to be beautiful and secondly, I admit know very little.
Dedicated to my grandmother, without her I would never have learned what beauty is.

Beauty takes a certain amount of innocence mixed with being naïve couple that together with a bold audacity to be you…To be you, let those words echo in your head for a moment…To be you…

Those are some, but not all of the prerequisite ingredients to beauty.

Well, well… Having written and read much in my day, I will spare you the boredom of a typical essay, which tries to describe through abstract, logical terms what beauty is… Instead, I will offer up a true tale while crossing my fingers.At times I have a hard time writing fiction, but luckily I have seen and experienced beauty first hand and it will be my honor to share with you its gift…                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    ***
The house was a smallish, one bed room neatly kept secret, tucked away on a country dirt road. A well kept secret that is more than worth sharing with the world. Seated in a burgundy recliner was an older lady, her age was probably somewhere around that of sixty or so. She had sparkling blue eyes, kind of like mine or so I am told. She is of Welsh and Egyptian decent. Mother to two sons and one daughter. Grandmother to six.

As she rocks back and forth in her chair, a dreadful disease courses through her body. Its ungodly mission is to take from the Earth, a woman more beautiful than my words can describe. It was successful. However, walking down that dirt road was a little boy, who will never let her beauty die, never let her die.
No more than four years old, with his hair slicked back, some would even say he resembled Elvis Presley or that kid from the Wonder Years. He was a shy young boy, timid to cause a fuss. His heart was full of silliness and caring, yet this was locked away in his heart. Only a few know the combination and his sweet grandmother was one. The little boy knocked on the door to that small house.
She was to sick to get up and open the door, but she called aloud, “Come in!” The little boy slowly opened the door and walked inside. She looked at her grandson as he walked through the door and tears started to trickle from her heart, she was so proud. “Hey little boy, come over here and give your grandmother a hug” she spoke. The little boy looked away sheepishly, as if he was scared of his grandmother but he wasn’t. “Now don’t make me come and get you” she spoke again.
The little boy started to inch closer to her recliner, where his grandmother remained seated. She had at this point a playful smile on her face, as the little boy approached. As the little boy came ever closer, he looked around as if he was acting like he was paying his grandmother no attention. But all along he knew that he just loved this beautiful old woman, why he acted liked he did not care, that’s a question for another day. The little boy got closer, and closer, and closer…
“I got you!” she called out. In one strong grab, she had pulled the little boy up to her lap like she had just caught a fish and was ready to eat. She displayed strength that many had thought was gone because of the cancer that ravaged her body. But at this moment she was stronger than any person, nothing was going to stop her from loving on her little boy.
The little boy started to playfully struggle, like he wanted to get away, but he didn’t really want to. This was only place he ever wanted to be. She turned him over on his back and placed him on her lap long ways; as if she was going to spank him in reverse. She looked at him and smiled. The little boy looked at her and smiled, he knew what was about to happen and he loved it, she loved it. She started to play the piano on his little stomach with such grace and talent. The only musical effect this had was to cause both of them to laugh hysterically. The little boy was so ticklish on his stomach and would proceed to just laugh and laugh and laugh. Suddenly, she would stop. The little boy would relax for a second and just at that moment, she would start-up again. Laughter could be heard from far away. “You are not getting away from me” she spoke, as she tickled his little stomach.
The little boy walked back down the dirt road to his home without ever telling his grandmother that he loved her…but it did not matter because she knew that he loved her and he know that she loves him.

I never saw my grandmother again after that day. But she taught me more lessons in those few brief encounters than I could ever imagine. Not only did she teach me about love among several other things, but she taught me about beauty.
Some one asked the little boy some years later, “Who does being beautiful mean to you?” The little boy replied, “Being beautiful…doesn’t that have something to do with playing the piano?” The little boy smiled.
See beauty is nothing you see. Beauty is not anything you say. Beauty does not have a name. Beauty is something you feel deep down in your soul. Beauty is not physical. Beauty is not young or old. Beauty is not relative or friend. Beauty is something you just know when two souls meet for the first time. Beauty is when your grandmother is in reality to sick to lift her little grandson up and tickle his little belly, but she does it anyway. Beauty is when you accept that you are still that same little timid boy who acts like he does not care but deep down knows that he does, and you know as well. Beauty is laughter, beauty is smiles. Beauty is forever.
Beauty is the love I have for my sweet grandmother. Beauty is the love she has for me. My grandmother is beautiful. Some one as beautiful as her only comes around so often in your life. I miss her…
***
Next, a final short tale of beauty.
***
The classroom was located on the third floor, in an old building, one that has long needed to be either torn down or refurbished. Many physically pretty young ladies walked in and out that building ever day. The little boy (really not so little) even had a number of pretty girls to walk in and out of his classroom throughout his college years. Blondes and brunettes, tall and short, some had prettier faces than others and some had better bodies than others. Some were tan, some had fair skin, some were sweet, and some were bitches. Some were easy and few had self respect. Some had pretty eyes, while others had killer thighs. Some had good hearts and some lacked caring. Some knew they were pretty and others doubted themselves.

But there was only one beautiful girl who walked into the little boy’s class that day. He knew her no more than the next random student. The little boy knew not her name, nor where she was from, or even her age. The little boy knew not if they even would talk, nor ever become acquaintances, much less friends. Needless to say, the little boy knew and still knows very little.
But there is one thing that he knows and that is beauty. See the little boy would probably never admit, why well that’s a question for another day, but he knew as soon as she walked into the door, that she was beautiful. And I don’t just mean physically although she is certainly attractive to the eye, but her heart and soul are just as pretty as her exterior.
Did the little boy think she was beautiful because he liked her? Did the little boy think she was beautiful because she was so physically pretty? No and no. The little boy knew she was beautiful because the tickling of his soul told him so and guess what, he was right. Some time after that memorable day, we became close friends. Often times we fight and argue like an old married couple, but even more often, I bring a smile to her face and she brings one to mine.
The little boy was asked a question one day, “Do you think you would still say she is beautiful if yall never became friends?” The little boy replied, “I knew she was beautiful before I even knew her name, so what do you think?” The little boy smiled.
That beautiful girl re-taught the little boy a lesson that day, a lesson he had longed forgot. She taught him a lesson of beauty. She taught him that beauty is not planned, that beauty does not care what your name is. That beauty is not seen by the eyes and that beauty cannot be predicted. That beauty does not care about class, status, or social standing. That beauty is more than skin deep. Beauty is being silly. That true beauty tickles the soul. Beauty is a girl who will put up with even the most stubborn of ways because she cares. Beauty is when that same little boy can never seem to say the right thing, but he never stops from trying. Beauty starts and forever remains in the soul. Beauty is when I tell my sweet girl how beautiful she is and she replies by denying that I am right, but deep down she knows I am telling the truth.
Beauty is the love I have for my sweet girl. Some one as beautiful as her only comes around so often in your life. I love my sweet girl.
***
Can you think of some one that is beautiful? And why is that person beautiful to you? Hm… hm…
-JMD-

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