Grow (W)here You Are Planted

I learned about beauty from my mother. Every morning, Mom would brush my hair.  It was always a to do because my brother and I were not ‘wake up early’ people then.  I’m still not.  I used to think that when she touched me, even my hair, she could hear my thoughts like I was speaking them out loud.  There were a few mornings I found myself forcing positive thoughts about her in my head so she wouldn’t know I was still mad about having to clean my room the day before.  The rule was that no matter what, hair had to look good for school. I was 12 or 13 the first time I ‘got ready’ for a real party, with boys and hormones, and I remember she helped me put on some makeup and perfume.  I had gotten my period recently and I think she had decided it was time to see what I thought about the next level of womanhood.  It was the first time I saw myself as pretty.  I wore a red pencil skirt and an oversized white button down shirt.  It was the 80’s.  There were a few more parties she helped