It has always irked me that people will walk up to a little girl and tell her how pretty she is.  And, if she’s not, they’ll say her dress is.  But with little boys it’s “You’re so strong!” and almost never about their looks.  Participating in the Miss Texas U.S.A. pageant was certainly an experience.  Having never even watched a pageant prior to being in one I felt hypocritical.  I was baffled that mothers had literally groomed their daughters in the pageant system for their entire lives.  One came with professional stylists and another girl had a set of ribs removed so she could look better in a bikini.  I am not kidding.  The two girls I remember making friends with who were in the pageant with me that year were a barrel racer and a truck driver.  I admired them both and they were genuinely friendly and down to earth.  Frankly, I think they were as lost as I was in the whole thing.  They both came from small Texas towns and if you’ve heard that girls can be mean you have NO IDEA how vicious perceived beauty queens can be.  French author Ninon de l’Enclos once said, “Beauty without grace is a hook without a bait.”  Unfortunately, I saw a lot of ugliness.  At one point in the week we were scheduled to do autograph signings.  I remember this little girl coming up to me with stars in her eyes followed by a mother who REALLY did not want to be there.  She uncomfortably explained they were vacationing in Padre and had no idea all this was going on.  (The pageant took up a large part of the hotel and there were events happening all around between press, dinners, filming, preliminaries, presentations by the mayor, etc.)  I guestimated her little girl to be about eight and asked what her favorite subject was in school.  She looked momentarily surprised but then eagerly told me it was math and we went on to discuss her favorite books.  The last thing I told her was to study and work hard because that was what was most important.  She smiled shyly and said she would as she turned and waved good-bye.  That mother came back to me later and said I was the only one who did not call her daughter pretty — and she thanked me for it.

I spent most of my life living in one small apartment but I carry very happy memories of running wild through a huge field, riding my Big Wheel everywhere, and playing on the two playgrounds in our complex.  I always dreamt though of not having solid white walls, of wanting a kitchen window, a fireplace, “fancy” sinks, ceiling fans and stairs.  And I wanted the house to be on a creek.  Imagine my shock when I had just gotten engaged and the five bedroom, three bathroom, two-story house I had loved went up for sale unexpectedly — across from a big creek on a corner filled with trees.  Three of the bedrooms and two of the bathrooms are upstairs.  There is a white rock rustic fireplace (Austin stone if you want to be pretentious), and three huge skylights I adore plus one in our bathroom.  Our home sits perched atop a pretty decent hill given how flat Dallas is.  I have the biggest kitchen window you have ever seen and it slides open so I can hear the rushing of the waterfalls from the koi pond we had built right outside.  Our child’s room looks like she lives in the woods.  Her cottage bed embodies much of what I had always longed for.  We have a two car garage that goes right into the kitchen.  I can plant; I can paint and I can remodel if I want!  All of which I have done.  We now have the prettiest screened in porch that over looks the creek and beautiful flagstone in the front with a wrought iron swing.  Our house is not huge; nor does it need to be.  How much does one need??  It’s stuff and things.  I recently explained to my little girl what an apartment was.  It was bittersweet describing something so foreign to her that had essentially been part of my entire life.  The great thing about growing up poor is that I refuse to fall into the Dallas superficial “better than” trap.  I have some really nice things but they do not define me.  Nor will my child be defined by what she has or by what her friends have or do not have.  I want to instill a strong sense of charity in her and awareness of a whole other world that lives right around her.  I love that my husband stays above the fray in the whole “what do you do” (translation:  how much money do you make) game.  I remember when I was in the Miss Texas U.S.A. pageant our director said the only person we were in competition with was ourselves.  Being HIGHLY competitive naturally and carrying a healthy chip on my shoulder from a lifetime of being dubbed “less than” for our financial circumstances, I thought he was really wrong.  Now I realize how right he was.  I am in a competition with myself each day to be a better person than I was the day before:  better for the Lord, better for myself, better for my husband, better for our daughter, and to be better to others.  That is all.

“Develop an attitude of gratitude, and give thanks for everything that happens to you, knowing that every step forward is a step toward achieving something bigger and better than your current situation. ~ Author Brian Tracy

Aesop, the ancient Greek fabulist, famously said, “No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.”  I was rushing through Home Depot for fountain pumps when I was unexpectedly greeted by a cat INSIDE the store.  Of course I stopped to visit and was thrilled to see the employees had been kind enough to apparently let the kitty stay.  The ear nick clearly marked that s/he had been “fixed”.  I also noticed s/he had a hurt leg and prayed it wasn’t permanent.  Before leaving I wanted to thank someone but I was too afraid to draw attention to the feline for fear s/he would be ousted.  I do know that animal was being sheltered because of the kindness of at least ONE person.  One person CAN make a difference.  EACH of us matter.  Next I went to my doctor’s for a physical.  As I waited to sign in I saw the back of one of her receptionist’s heads and could not help but laugh out loud.  It was right before Valentine’s and she was wearing a headband with red sparkly hearts that goggled wildly back and forth.  What made it so funny was they wouldn’t stop even when she wasn’t moving.  Staring in rapt fascination, I noticed she was also wearing blindingly hot pink shoes.  She then turned around and smiled and I was still laughing.  Seeing her grinning made me laugh even more.  In turn, her smile broadened and there was a cheeky twinkle in her eyes.  What a joy to see a grown woman happy enough to be silly and spread cheer on a holiday that sometimes seems exclusive to lovers.  It was infectious (no pun intended) and soon she had her other coworkers laughing as well.  Dubbing her the “Love Bug”, I got to see her again when I checked out.  I told her I was going to tell everyone I caught a bug at the doctor’s and then together we both said, “a LUV bug!”  I spent a lot of time in hospitals the last several years of my mother’s life; it holds a sadness for me I cannot easily shake.  But for this day, this woman allowed me to forget and to be joyful.  One woman wearing a genuine smile and wibbly hearts on a sparkly headband and a hurt kitty who just wanted to be patted both brought unexpected happiness to my heart.  Each one of us affects someone every day and we may never even know it.  A smile costs nothing from its giver but could be priceless to its receiver.  Aesop’s words hold as true today as when they were written more than two millennia ago:

“No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted.”

Choose kindness; choose smiles.

Last year on St. Valentine’s Day our then three year old took her first karate lesson.  Her uniform was the smallest they made — a 00000 — and she was swimming in it.  Despite looping it around her so many times, her white belt still trailed along the floor.  She stayed out on the mat the whole lesson and never cried.  I remember her sitting there taking everything in with her great, big dark eyes.  She was also sucking her thumb, something she only does when she gets nervous.  I had no idea how very proud of her I would become until I saw older boys twice her size bawling red faced for their mothers.  She just watched everything and I’m not sure they thought she would be a good fit.  But by the next class they gently coaxed her little thumb out of her mouth.  She didn’t speak, but she participated.  I was beyond thrilled to discover that this was a South Korean martial arts studio, as my father served eight years in Korea.  He knew some of the language and also was trained in that fighting style.  A true war hero, at his funeral he received a full military burial complete with a 21 gun salute.  I felt Daddy’s hand on this; I cannot explain it.  My father treated me no differently growing up simply because I was girl.  He never took my femininity away, but he made sure I could take care of myself and not be dependent upon some man or others for that matter.  Burk and I met because I changed his flat tire!  But I digress.  After the first month of class I remember putting an exhausted little one in her car seat and she said, “Mama, may I please suck my thumb now?” and then proceeded to pass out.  Burk and I decided early on this was going to be a commitment.  It is a discipline that she will be able to use throughout her entire life.  If she had been miserable we would have considered taking her out after six months.  But gradually she got a little more confident and even started practicing on her own.  She is now in the advanced class and to date she has earned her white belt, her camouflage belt, her yellow belt, her orange belt, and now her purple belt.  This sweet picture was taken after she was awarded her purple belt.  Next month she will test for her green belt.  They have never treated her “like a girl” and she is in a mostly masculine environment.  A family member asked if she could not do something “a little more civil like be a camp fire girl.”  Martial arts IS civil; it is all about avoiding violence but being prepared to defend yourself if you ever had to.  She does want to be be a Girl Scout when she turns five and that will be her second activity outside of school.  Nothing against ballet, but (rhetorically) I wonder what will serve her better once she is in college and, heaven forbid, she encountered a threatening situation?  Either she could throw her tutu at her would be attacker or she could twist out of their grasp, palm strike them to their face, and take them out at the knees.  I saw a great YouTube video of a delicate woman somewhere in India being harassed while waiting for the train.  She seemed so frail and the man was becoming more and more aggressive.  Just as the train came, she turned to get her purse, elbowed the guy and then flipped him to the ground before she walked calmly away to board as throngs of people cheered.  I am so glad my karate kid girl is studying such an ancient and noble practice.

“When people ask me about what I learned from martial arts, I don’t talk about favorite punches or kicks, or about fights won or lost.  I talk about learning self-discipline, about ethics and manners and benevolence and fairness.” ~ Author Jonathan Maberry

What could be better than that?