I know I have not written much for the blog as of late, so I hope to resurrect it with a little something today. My life surely isn’t comparable to the busiest of them all, but it gets pretty hectic in my little sphere of life – juggling a job, a twenty-two month old, a husband and a rigid writing schedule than I have ever adopted.
An acquaintance relayed to me her burden of being the most accomplished in her family, and how she did not have a good role model growing up. It got me thinking about the abundance of crown jewels of wisdom, integrity and fineness that I have in my own backyard. Unlike my associate, I could not lay claim to having the most of anything within my family. I don’t know if my feelings are prompted by some kind of ‘middle child syndrome,’ but I assure you, those that precede me set the bar pretty high.
Well, today I shall be exposed as one who is not in possession of the titles of “most intelligent, most courageous, and most beautiful” in my family. But alas, I know the people who do, can I at least get credit for that. It is my hope that all those attributes, slightly rubbed off on me in some way.
I have grown up in the realm of incredible folks around me. I never had to look any further away from my family for – inspiration, profound love, lessons in self-worth and strength of mind, fearlessness, determination, all the while embracing womanhood and ways to prettify ones own natural beauty.
See, I have a brother who by far surpasses me with his mental capacity – pretty much most forms applicable to the plethora of mental activity. Or whatever altitude is used to grasp the measure of intelligence. He was naturally assigned this ability since his formation. He is the same person, that has always stood up for himself regardless of how mighty or tough the opposition stood – A quality I never possessed in my youth. This fellow, easily harmonizes with folks from all types of denominations, social and political spectrum. Through his trials and unfortunate set backs, he has never forsaken to dream big. I have seen him rattled, scurrying hither and thither in search for overhead to shield him, as he haphazardly ran from sprinklers of harsh realities. Even then, he never cast off positive insight, led partially by his intelligence I presume, and his relentless pursuit for elements that can afford him the satisfaction he highly seeks. From his example alone, I shudder at the notion of settling, in every aspect of my life.
I have often wondered how my mother squared off the calamities that have plagued her through out her life. Besides having a mentally disabled child, she poses as the matriarch of a family of twelve siblings (excluding the dozens of their children). However, that number is severely altered because as it is now, there are more folks who have graduated to the after life, than there are remaining. A fact that is hard to reconcile, especially with her mother (my grandmother) being the last of those we lost. One couldn’t possibly become comfortable with frequent visits to drop loved ones at the graveyard. Also, having a sick/disabled child, without the powers to help them or change their state in any way, would debilitate the toughest of men. It would be a fair presumption that she could have morphed into steel by now, but she continues to be engaged with life, is hardworking, oozes with grace, strength, tenderness, and great tenacity as she effortlessly stomps over mountains of adversity that would chew and spit out the average folk, myself included. With great faith, she remains spruced up with connotations that suggest that her best life has not even succeeded her yet. So I can’t be some little chump with superwoman as my mother. Bring it on baby!
The topic of beauty is interesting, because I find that things are not always what they seem. I’ve had folks insinuate that I seem prettier than my sixty-three year old mother. Why a thirty-three year old and a sixty-three year old are being compared, bewilders me, but that’s another story. Needless to say, mi madre at my age, was far more attractive than I am. She never had to be bound with braces to get a descent smile out of her, like some people we know, or utilize a broad range of cosmetics/prosthetics to look tolerable like… okay, you get the drift. She was naturally beautiful. Thus, when my sister was born she was just as flawless. She resembled my mother and was the prettiest baby girl I had ever seen – there are those that can vouch for this. She was undoubtedly born prettier than I was, but when her disability/sickness took over as she got older, the shape of her whole being slowly changed unfavorably. So as it is, there are those that don’t know the real truth of who really was born more beautiful in the family because of the facade of life’s bearings. Things are not always what they seem!
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