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HEAVY BURDEN -- Essence Magazine
Dec. 7th, 2006 11:50 amHEAVY BURDEN -- Rosemary L. Bray
Is there a woman among us who is not haunted by how society tells her she should look? The reality is that the thin `ideal' body is a myth. Who come in all sizes, and our true beauty shows only when we cherish ourselves. Here a writer comes to terms with that simple truth
One summer afternoon when I was about 11, my parents took us kids to the 57th Street Beach. Quiet as it's kept, Chicago has lots of public beaches, and we went often when I was a child. I couldn't swim--still can't--but I liked splashing around with my brothers and sister and lying in the hot sun.
This particular afternoon I had gotten out of the water, but I couldn't find my towel. As I was rubbing my eyes, someone offered to lend me one. It was a boy, maybe 17 years old, dark-skinned and friendly I took his towel and wined my eyes, and I would have talked to him except my father was suddenly there, snatching his towel from my hands and chasing the boy away. I was embarrassed. I heard my mother say that the boy meant no harm, that both of us were just kids. And my father answered, low and angry, that I looked grown. I remember being afraid then, and terribly ashamed. I didn't know what I was ashamed of, I just knew I was ashamed.
( Read more... )
Is there a woman among us who is not haunted by how society tells her she should look? The reality is that the thin `ideal' body is a myth. Who come in all sizes, and our true beauty shows only when we cherish ourselves. Here a writer comes to terms with that simple truth
One summer afternoon when I was about 11, my parents took us kids to the 57th Street Beach. Quiet as it's kept, Chicago has lots of public beaches, and we went often when I was a child. I couldn't swim--still can't--but I liked splashing around with my brothers and sister and lying in the hot sun.
This particular afternoon I had gotten out of the water, but I couldn't find my towel. As I was rubbing my eyes, someone offered to lend me one. It was a boy, maybe 17 years old, dark-skinned and friendly I took his towel and wined my eyes, and I would have talked to him except my father was suddenly there, snatching his towel from my hands and chasing the boy away. I was embarrassed. I heard my mother say that the boy meant no harm, that both of us were just kids. And my father answered, low and angry, that I looked grown. I remember being afraid then, and terribly ashamed. I didn't know what I was ashamed of, I just knew I was ashamed.
( Read more... )
