Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Beauty and Memories

The day I discovered I was ugly, my curly black hair brushed against my shoulders, tickling, warm as the sun burnishing my skin.   My hair, no matter how many years between cuttings, would never get long, no matter how old I got, but once I could feel it touching my shoulders, I felt lovely. I still prefer it longer and am sad that cancer has taken that away from me.  My sister had really beautiful hair, (still does) long, light,  fine, straight and shiny.  Her eyes, too, were a changeable hazel/green  and she had light skin and a normal shaped body.  On the contrary, I was dark, with frizzy, thick, black, curly hair - not only on my head but legs, with caterpillar eyebrows and a mustache.  My eyes were muddy brown and I was skinny as a broomstick.

In the 1960s I still was not aware my appearance was a problem and the neighborhood kids didn't do much teasing back then, or at least, no more to me than anybody.  I was called chicken legs and twiggy but everybody was called names.   I knew my sister was prettier than I was, but I was older, it seemed to even out.  I just knew we were different, and because I could tan and she burned, I felt like I got an okay deal.

As younger children, we wanted the same thing in regards to appearance - long hair.  My sister and I would pin towels on our heads and pretend it was hair, brush it back and dance with our newly waist length hair, or we'd pretend to be mermaids, swimming in our sunken living room with our flowing towel hair.  In real life, hers did get long and mine wouldn't grow.  But, she had to sit there with her thin, easily tangled hair, my impatient Irish mother brushing it, trying to untangle it and pulling hard, tears in my sister's eyes spilling down her cheeks. I remember feeling sorry for my sister and so offered to take over the job.  I knew to start at the bottom, holding handfuls of hair above where I brushed so she would not feel pain.  Because of the texture of my hair, I escaped the regular torture that I didn't have an older sister to help with.   I still needed my hair brushed, and earned a smack on the head with a brush if I moved, but because my hair was thick, I didn't endure it as as often as my poor sister.  The only problem was that it brushed into a fuzz ball.

The day I knew, I was about ten, walking home from Raley's grocery store with a bag of sunflower seeds and a coke.  Back in those days, you got your soda from a machine.  You dropped your dime in, a cup came down, followed by crushed ice, then the syrup mixed with carbonated water flowed.  Magically, the soda always filled exactly to the top of the cup and when it stopped, a plastic door would unlock, granting you privilege to your sweet drink. You pulled the paper cup out carefully because it was pinched between two prongs, and if you squeezed too hard, you'd lose some precious soda. Every once in a while, you lost your dime but got a show.   The paper cup would come down sideways, and then the ice would come down like hail, bouncing off the cup like jiffy pop.  Next the soda would splatter everywhere, creating an upside down fountain, brown drops sliding down the stainless steel container, stickying the plastic door, dripping through the open steel bars on the bottom that were made for such a contingency. You could not slide up the plastic door up at any time during the filling process to straighten your cup,  so you had to helplessly watch your drink and your dime disappear.   I wondered: what happened to that spilled soda?  Did it get recycled back to wherever the new soda came from?

Most times though, the machine worked and you'd get your Coke.  Being ten, you could walk home, alternating a sip of sweet soda mixed with the salty munch sunflower seeds.  We kids became expert at spitting out the shell..  

Sacramento in the summer was hot.  Egg-frying hot we called it, and every year on the hottest days, one of us did steal an egg from our mother's refrigerator and crack it on the sidewalk.  They never did fry but would get white around the edges.   We'd get bored waiting for it to cook and leave to go ride bikes or play army, where the boys would be soldiers and the girls would be nurses, none of us complaining about gender inequality.  The forgotten egg would stink for a while and then creatures would get them. Or, the weekend would come and our fathers would wash them away with hoses, we never knew.   But we kids, who lived in the court on Grinnell Way in the '60s, we would go barefoot even in the egg-frying heat -  even though it was over 100 outside. Our feet must have been made of leather, built up with calluses to withstand it.  We did have flip-flops and Keds, which our moms would sometimes make us put on, "It's hot out, put your shoes on!"  but barefoot was the style, a reflection of our freedom, and to this day, I rarely wear shoes unless I leave the house.  We kids were allowed to run free back then, no play dates, no planned activities, no restrictions. Summer was for us.  We would take our allowance or beg for 15 cents and go to the store almost every day,  barefoot.  To get to Raleys, we would stick to grass as long as we could, than when we got to main streets we'd hop on the asphalt from shady spot to shady spot and try to find painted lines to walk on.  There were no bike lanes in those days, so the painted lines were in parking lots, where we'd walk zig-zag to get to the store in order to keep our feet cool enough to not burn.  Once inside the store, the cool, air-conditioned tile on scorched feet was like balm and we would walk around until we felt healed.  Then, we'd pay for our treat and hit the soda machine (which was outside the store) and walk back home; for me,  knowing a book was waiting if somebody couldn't play.

On this summer day that I remember so clearly, it was hot as usual but slightly windy which made my hair blow in the breeze. I felt beautiful, exotic, tanned.  I felt each tangled curl against my face; my shoulders.  I imagined that everybody seeing me going down the street was wondering who that girl with the magical hair was and where was she going?  I'd smile at cars that passed, figuring they noticed my lovely hair and my dark skin. Close to home, I walked down the center of our court, hot feet ignored, and I'd shake my head to move the hair.  I was gorgeous and I knew it.

The rest of the day was vague, but probably like all the rest I had in the summer.  I'd meet up with friends and we'd climb trees, or play "pretend" games or dress our Barbies.  Summers were magical.  Our moms mostly didn't work and didn't mother the way we mother now, or at least, mine didn't. We would get breakfast and then be kicked out of the house, told not to come home until the street lights came on.  We were free to ride bikes, run in and out of each other's houses (Michelle's mom always had pickles, Patty's mom made cinnamon toast). Lynn was good for stealing her mom's cigarettes and her Dad was the first person who ever had remote control on the TV, the cord snaking from the TV to the handrest of his La-Z-Boy. Me, I had a pool in my backyard,  but couldn't have friends over to swim too often as somebody had to watch.  My mom was too busy and the filter was always full of frogs.

My favorite thing in the world was reading, and I would find a tree, sit under it with my treats, and read about girls who had fascinating lives:  Scarlett O'Hara, Marjorie Morningstar, Mary Frances Nolan, and sometimes a boy such as Herbie Bookbinder.  Books were my solace and my pleasure and I escaped into them daily.  My friends liked to read too, and we would "read" together, sitting under the shade of a tree, grass tickling our tan legs.  I thought back then that reading would be the one thing I would want to do, even on my deathbed.  Now that I am close to that bed, four years into chemo, it's rare when I can concentrate on a story.

Whatever I did that day of the glorious hair, that night, I was in my room and heard my mother and father discussing me with concern: a serious, quiet conversation.  It is my father's voice that stays with me.  "Ann has to do something with that hair, she looks terrible.  I can't have my daughter looking like that."  The words struck me to my heart.  I had gone from feeling beautiful to feeling ugly in an instant.  My own father said so. In my memory, the conversation continued for quite a while, me hovering in front of the closed door: how hairy I was, how awful I looked, how difficult I was when it was time for a haircut, my bad teeth that would need expensive braces,  how my mother didn't know what to do with me, how much prettier my sister was. Later, my father called me in and asked me what kind of haircut I wanted.  I had liked my hair so I didn't even know how to answer that question. He had put the responsibility on me, which was something they often did.  When I said I liked the way it was, I was considered disrespectful, and yelled at.  I was somehow at fault for my appearance.

Alone in my room, I realized I had not been beautiful walking down the street that day, and my imagination switched -  people who had seen me were probably laughing, not admiring.

That was the last time in my life I felt free and beautiful.

Like that coke machine, the cup had unexpectedly come down sideways and my self-esteem splattered.

Of course, in later years I found other things to be proud of about myself both physically and more importantly - mentally. I'm a loving mother, I'm a good cook, I was great at every job I had.  But I have always felt unattractive, and I wonder what would have happened if my father had ever said, "Ann, you look beautiful."  The closest he ever got was telling me at a Father/Daughter Dance that I'd given him a hard-on. Both of my parents were alcoholics - the serious kind, the kind who drink a liter or more a day.  So, while that might have disturbed another girl, to me it was normal.  I was a teenager and he was drunk, and he apologized the next day when he sobered up and I told him that it was okay, I even said it was normal.  To me, it was.  But it really wasn't, none of it was.  But it did teach me what was of value when it came to beauty.  I ended up the girl with the ugly face, but the big boobs, and that would have to do, and hey, that's what men want, including my own father.  With a mastectomy, I had to let all that go.

In later years, he continued to find his progeny unattractive - he complained about his 10 year old granddaughter and her weight, although it was more of a complaint about her parents and how they allow her to eat.  She is a lovely girl with the long hair I've always dreamed of, and back when she was allowed to spend time with me, I combed her long fine hair exactly the way I did my sister's.  She was hardly fat by today's standards, although I don't know what she looks like now.  The truth is, my father wasn't able to find the beauty in some of his family and really, much of his life,  and so left us to struggle to find it in ourselves.

Our world today is so full of pressures on women to be beautiful - so much more than it was back when I was young.  I'm not sure how young girls who are average looking, like I was, and who live in dysfunctional families, as I did, can find their own beauty when they do not have supportive people in their environment. The pressure of modern society is tremendous.

This story leads somewhere:  I was recently asked by a professional photographer if she could take my photo,  and this memory came back to me, along with all my insecurities.  I wanted to say no, as I have never liked having my photo taken, and do not see physical beauty in myself.  In video, when you can talk, you can explain, there is movement, and liveliness and more shows.  When it is a still photo....you are bare, you are only your body.  Or so I thought.  When I saw Anastasia's photos I realized this was a woman who could find beauty in reality; she was an artist.

I'd long ago promised myself that if I was offered an experience because of this blog, and my health allowed, I would say yes.  In health, I'd said no to many things in my life, because of fear, because of lack of confidence, because of family obligations or time or a job - and my chances at yes are dwindling.

So I said yes.

The scene is set and the pictures and experience with Anastasia will be in another post.  And, I may continue to blog about some of my other memories occasionally, as there is more to me than just cancer, and some of what I've experienced has led to the way I have dealt with this disease.









Please don't forget to vote for me in Healthline's Best Blog Competition.  You can vote once per day and the prize is $1,000.00.  As always, it will go into my son's college fun.

33 comments:

  1. Ann, very good writing, and a touching story. This story you should publish somewhere. I so identify with the beauty and appreciation of your body and have it (somewhat) lost to cancer. I think if you really look, the beauty is still there. Maybe its more beautiful than ever?

    ReplyDelete
  2. I don't remember how I first found your blog - I have no personal connection to cancer at all, but I've stayed and read and have become very attached to your story. This was a beautiful piece, and for what it's worth, the first time I saw your picture I thought you were gorgeous!

    ReplyDelete
  3. Oh, Ann, your story tugs at my heart for a whole variety of reasons. Some of those hurtful comments we hear as children never leave us do they? I heard a few myself... I suppose we all have. And cancer undoubtedly can do a real number on one's self image... I'm glad you decided to go ahead and do the photos. I look forward to seeing them. Thanks for sharing some memories.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Wow, Ann, this is incredibly raw and powerful. Beautifully written, too. Thank you for sharing it.

    Jill in MN

    ReplyDelete
  5. Ann, you are beautiful. I have always thought so, since the first time I read your blog and saw your picture. But the beauty of your heart shows through in your humor, spirit and intelligence. Love you!

    ReplyDelete
  6. This post really surprised me, as I always thought you were very attractive in the pictures that you post. Sad, that this is the self-image that you grew up with, especially when it is far from the reality of at least today. Everyone has awkward and "ugly" teen years, but if you cannot see the beauty in you today, you do really need to look more closely....It is there for the rest of us all to see!

    ReplyDelete
  7. I'd love to see a picture of you as a ten year old - before you heard that nasty remark from your dad. I'm sure you will look vibrant, beautiful and full of zest.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I tried to find one to include but I don't have any childhood photos of me. At least, not any accessible, maybe there are one or two in a box somewhere.

      Delete
  8. I would bet you fifty bucks that when you were ten-- and afterwards-- you were just as beautiful as you felt that day. What a cutting and awful thing to say about a child. I hope you love your pictures-- I visited Anastasia's page and that is certainly some lovely work.

    ReplyDelete
  9. In my opinion, you are not just a beautiful women, but when you smile everything shines... And then you are also so smart! thanks for sharing a personal story, the description of your childhood summers was incredible, you write beautiful. I hope that today you have a nice day and smile a lot.

    ReplyDelete
  10. One of my favorite quotes, I think it is Rumi, is: "If you don't like what you see in the mirror, you aren't seeing your real self".

    Thank you for your sweet and moving memory.

    Meanwhile, my grandson went on hospice two weeks ago, and we have to watch while the tumors take over his little body, it's pretty horrific, but beautiful to hold him and make peace... Ah life, such a mystery and a beauty and a sorrow.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. My sympathies and thoughts are with you at this difficult time. I'm very sorry. I hope he is comfortable.

      Delete
  11. I have a teenage daughter and I found a website that talks about the 10 things dads must say to their daughters - other than I love you and I'll always be here for you, "you are beautiful" is at the top of the list. Girls need to hear that from their dads, even on their worst hair day, acne day, etc. Fathers can build (or crush) self esteem in seconds, as you so eloquently pointed out. I remember when I was 16 laying out in the little side yard in my swimsuit to get sun, hidden away from any neighbors that might see - my Dad told me to get into the main part of the yard and not be ashamed of my body. I'll never forget that and now I lay in the middle of the beach, etc and I'm comfortable in my own skin. I'm sorry that your Dad did that to you and maybe even worse, that your Mother allowed it and did not stick up for you. My daughter is quick to point out when I sit silently when her dad is railing on her for something and later apologize - she says, why didn't you stick up for me?? It felt like no one was in my corner. Anyhow, Rock on, Ann - you're beautiful and I can't wait to see the pictures that will show you what we all see!

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Your dad is awesome. ♥

      Delete
    2. My mother was far worse and would never stick up for me in any sense, including when there was violence, which there was. Maybe I'll tell a story about her someday. Your dad sounds remarkable. They say our fathers teach us what to expect in men, that they teach us how to be women even more than our mothers do. I just know that when my own sons have daughters, they will love, protect and never harm them.

      Delete
    3. Fathers.."teach us how to be women even more than our mothers do" - what a great quote. Your boys are lucky to have you as their mom and I'm sure they will choose wonderful wives accordingly! Thanks for responding to my post, Ann, it's Carpediem1965 from the BCO boards and I've been following you for years. ❤ Merry Christmas and many more :-)

      Delete
  12. I still say you should find someone who will get this whole thing published for you. Someone else do all the legwork & all proceeds to your family

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I totally agree. Ann's story needs to be told, as does that of all the women/men suffering from Stage IV breast cancer.

      Delete
  13. I've been following your blog for two years now. Initially, it was your sharp wit and useful information that drew me in; then I noticed we live in the same city and I was hooked. Now, I realize we grew up just blocks away from each other. I know that Raley's and walked those streets too on those hot, egg frying summer days. Thank you for sharing so much of yourself. You are an inspiration.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Really? That's so cool! Was it the same time period? Do you remember when the other store was a Woolco, and it had a counter? Me and my friends would sit there and eat salty french fries with lots of ketchup. Inside my house I would say I had a terrible childhood but outside the house I had a wonderful childhood. Did you play Flashlight Tag? Those were great days of freedom, those summers. Did you go to Thomas Jefferson Elementary? I do want to capture those days for my kids, who grow up so differently than we do. Their summers were playdates and video games.....so different...

      Delete
  14. Jesus christ. I truly hope you realize now, as an adult, how mean and inappropriate your father was. I'm not the overly emotional type, but reading that killed a little piece of me.

    You may have had an awkward phase, but you are one of the lucky ones who has managed to become more and more beautiful as you've aged. I'm serious. Most people decline looks-wise as they get older. You've grown into your looks. You're stunning. ♥

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yes, I have reflected a lot on what happened in my childhood, the repercussions it has had to this day, the things I became because of it, what it did to what's left of our family. I also question myself - where things as bad I remember them? My diary entries indicate they were, however, there aren't a lot of them. Maybe I only wrote down the bad things and only remember them. However, I can see in the actions and the way communication occurs in my family that things went very wrong.

      However, nobody is just one thing, and my father had many good qualities too. He, like my mother, should never have been parents. Both of them were alcoholics, the kind that drink all day and that led to some very inappropriate and even violent actions. Yet, they provided a nice home and lifestyle for us, and he was very generous, to a fault. He was the kind who would give you the shirt off his back, but then complain to somebody else that he had to do that - only his kids and grandkids though, his friends escaped that and he never sad a negative word about them that I heard. It taught me to be blunt, probably to a fault. I don't understand the game that people play where they pretend that everything is okay but then make snarky comments about you behind your back, or allude to things that you didn't say, which is the way my family communicated. I do not tolerate that at all, anymore, anywhere. Life is too short for that.

      Yes, it was inappropriate as much of it was. Now that both of my parents are gone, I may end up writing more childhood memories for my children. But like I said, people are complicated and nobody is pure bad or pure good. My father wasn't parented either, he was stuck in a boarding school at 11 and during summers, sent back and forth to divorced parents, not common back in the 30s.

      Delete
  15. I just stumbled onto your blog. I'm not sure what took me so long since I was diagnosed in April.
    When I read this post, I had no idea what you looked like and then I looked at your picture and I was stunned.
    What are you talking about? You are beautiful!
    Then I poured over your blog and personally, I think you are beautiful inside and out.
    It is crazy, the head games that dysfunctional parents can play on us.
    Shrug it off, sister.
    I hope that in writing this post, you were able to see that your parents were the crazy ones and that it was THEIR problem, not yours.
    I think you are gorgeous as do many others who commented here but I have learned from experience that none of it matters until you see it yourself.
    You have the right to let the past go and embrace the beauty that you truly are. Own it.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Thank you! I do not think I'll ever see myself as beautiful but the past has been let go, at least the emotional part of it. But it has all lead to where I am right now, how I deal with this situation, so while everybody can escape the emotional aspect of a bad childhood, nobody can escape its legacy.

      Delete
  16. I have always thought of you as very attractive too, since the first time I saw the blog! Whenever I think of you and your blog, I think of a very pretty woman! How totally stupid of your parents to say such ignorant things to you. But you are totally right, no one is all good or all bad, that is a true sign of maturity, to even know that about your parents. I always enjoy reading your thoughts!

    Victoria

    ReplyDelete
  17. I completely lost sight of the fact that I was reading a blog about a woman with cancer during that post. You are a gifted writer and twirl words like pasta around a fork! Poignant, really unbelievably powerful words.
    I don't believe that "ugly", whatever that is, exists.
    I'm shocked you spent one minute of your life feeling "ugly" when you are very beautiful...the ego is a powerful thing and having it bruised so young really seemed to have a lasting impact on you.
    Parents are human beings, they have flaws, they make mistakes and they can be wrong. Hard for a child to know this but now you can see that just because your father said it-it doesn't make it true.

    ReplyDelete
  18. Ironically, the first thing I noticed when I opened your site is your beauty. My dear friend has stage 4 breast cancer, and I googled stage 4 cancer blogs in hope of understanding what my friend might endure. I spent hours reading your blog and quickly noted your beauty and intelligence. Your post is a reminder of the sensitivity of women, especially young girls.

    ReplyDelete
  19. Ann I thought this must be a guest post because I could not imagine that the woman whose picture I see today grew up feeling ugly. Incredible story and writing.

    And it's so true that typical kids (girls especially) don't get that running free experience any more. I used to love walking into town and buying stuff at the dime store, and exploring deserted places.

    ReplyDelete
  20. I can't figure out how to reply to your reply so I'm answering the Woolco counter and Thomas Jefferson questions here instead. We lived in Glenbrook, next door to College Greens, but we had lots of school chums in both neighborhoods. We were catholic school kids; most of the kids in our immediate neighborhood went to Bancroft but we had cousins and friends who went to Thomas Jefferson. I babysat for the family of my dad's childhood friends, Richard and Kathy Traversi. I think they also lived on Grinnell. I don't remember the Woolco but I remember the neighborhood pool that I think was on Notre Dame?

    Coincidentally, my youngest sister's son is now a first grader at Thomas Jefferson (that is now a California Montessori Project). Driving back to that neighborhood for kindergarten graduation last year brought back lots of memories. Not all good, but not all bad either. When my kids were younger we lived in Iowa for a couple of years so they got a little taste of that kind of life we had growing up in the 60's. I remember summers of playing outside all day long until dinner, and then running back out as soon as you could get excused from the table, and staying out until dark or until your parent (in my case, usually my dad) yelled for you to get in the house, right now, or else.

    As a former chemo recipient (2 years ago this month) I am often asked by newly diagnosed co-workers, friends of friends, etc for advice/guidance/info. I always refer people to your blog. It is the whole package - relevant information that is honest, hilarious, and heartwarming. Thank you for this. You have touched more lives than you'll ever know.

    ReplyDelete
  21. I've been following your blog for a lot of years now. Ann, this post surprised me. I've always looked at you and thought, "She's beautiful," and wondered about where it comes from, that polish. I know that I don't have it, the ability to dress stylishly and look as if you are comfortable, the ability to wear makeup and make it look as if you are not. I saw your easy smile, and thought, "this is a woman who is comfortable in her own skin..." and once again, I wondered where that came from. I knew that your childhood was difficult, but I would never, in a million years, have guessed that you struggled with self esteem.

    BTW, the comment that I heard was this: "Some guy at work asked me if my daughter was pretty. I said, 'Not really, but she's got two arms and two legs right where they're supposed to be.' "

    ReplyDelete
  22. Ann, you write so beautifully, you are beautiful, and an amazing person.

    What stuck out to me was what your father did and said. Saying you gave him a hard on--completely and utterly reprehensible and vile. It angers me that you are such a wonderful, caring, intelligent person and you ended up with a parent like that.

    You were a sensitive, observant little girl and in one instant your parents took a sledgehammer to your self-esteem. Please know that nothing they say matters, because they couldn't have been more wrong.

    I myself have a bad relationship with my mother. She called me fat, told me my hair was ugly and messy (I'm mixed race, black and white), and let her boyfriend trample on my feelings and mental health.

    The scars from childhood and adolescence may not ever fully heal, but I'm learning to love myself bit by bit.

    Thank you for sharing this with us. Your words truly move me.

    ReplyDelete
  23. This is a very touching story and it reminds me of my experience which I NEVER shared before: I have been 11 years old and I've heard my mom saying that I've got a fat butt. Due to this incidence it took me a long time to accept my body as it is (although still not liking it), focusing on my "fat butt". Now I know it isn't fat but in comparison to my moms butt it is a little more "round". Still I rarely like my appearance although in the course of the years I found out - to my huge surprise - that I am a more than average beautiful woman. Since I do not write my name to this post I hope nobody feels offended or thinks that I'm exaggerating or bragging about it - but just wanting to make clear how much a thoughtless comment of the people (your parents) you trust the most while beeing child can mess up a childs perception of itself. For a lifetime. Although I know I am a very attractive woman I still do not "feel it" although men love me and women often envy me for my appearance. Often I still feel ugly. My mother is an alchoholic herself, so this caused some kind of mental health issues as well. I am never going to be a woman that completely feels comfortable in her body. I really hope you don't feel offended because your (Ann) health condition is far more to worry about. My "problem" isn't a real problem I assume, just the kind a lot of people have to deal with.

    Ann, I just found your blog a few days ago - my grandmother died of cancer almost two years ago - after a battle that lastet 4 years - I have stayed with her until the end. You are very much alike her (I assume by reading your blog) - in order to handle and accept the process, I do read blogs from cancer patients...this is what lead me here. And it helps me tremendously. Thank you for your nice blog and your very open storys about the progress of illness and what comes along with it. I wish you and your family a merry Chrismas and hope you will stay stable enough to see your son graduate and your grandchild arrive to this world.
    I apologise for the many typos and grammar, but my native language isn't English. Lots of love from Europe - if there would be a possibility I would have liked to give you a big hug!!

    ReplyDelete
  24. just cast my vote for you and for the first time ever let this get up on facebook. I see you are neck and neck for the prize, good luck and merry xmas from Sweden!

    ReplyDelete

Thank you for commenting. If the post is over 14 days old, the comment will be moderated and will approved later. This is a spam prevention technique - but I love to hear from you!