October 21, 2017 § 9 Comments
My husband, Ray, says there are no ugly young people, an exaggeration, but not a whopping big one.
Consider what the young have going for them. Smooth skin, and if it is tan, their skin has not yet begun to pay the price for that glow. Wide eyes, the lids fully open. Straight backs. Limber joints. The young body exhibits an appealing ease.
What I write next is mostly for women, the sex afflicted with the expectation of beauty.
This post will come as no surprise, but sometimes we only question the things we take for granted when we say them out loud or state them in print.
Physical attractiveness is not an absolute requirement for guys. Funny is just as good. Athleticism or smarts; those work too.
And for those with young-buck good looks, with age these attributes are seamlessly replaced by a growth in stature and authority, a good job.
I don’t know whether this is because women are more broad-minded than men, more willing to judge worth based on a range of positive qualities, or because men, as members of the dominant sex, have used their power to write the terms of their own attractiveness.
October 9, 2017 § 1 Comment
Some seventy years ago
Ray was a Catholic kid at Holy Redeemer,
a DC school with nuns in black and white,
girls who flashed bare chapped knees
below navy blue pleats,
and boys who, in defiance
of their mandatory neckties,
were as wondering and
irreverent as any.
In addition to the rote round of
the squeal of chalk on board,
was the annual field trip.
Even then DC was rich
But the Holy Redeemers went to just one.
Not the Smithsonian,
not The National Gallery,
not the Renwick.
No, the band of Catholics single-filed
onto the street car
(the tracks ran right by the school)
and rode to
The Medical Museum,
to ogle its two-headed baby,
its anatomical anomalies in murky jars.
But every year the same rumor
was passed around,
boy to boy,
elbow to ribs.