Beautiful!

Put on the Make-up to Cover It All

Author's note: This is mostly first person. It reads like a diary entry. Just thought that should be brought to your attention.

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Growing up, my Daddy always said I was beautiful. I’m glad I had a dad who took the time to tell me.

As a teenager, I don’t see that now. My “friends” and other kids around me don’t tell me I’m beautiful. In fact, I’ve been called ugly. I don’t know why they call me that. I’ve seen people who could be called ugly, and they are the sweetest people on the planet. What makes a person pretty or ugly? Hair color, size, skin tone, the shape of their teeth or nose? I don’t get that. Most of my friends are average: just like me.

The boys are the most detrimental thing to a girl’s self-image. In a time in life where all we want is to be noticed, they go out of their way to make sure the “beautiful girls” are noticed and that we know we’re not one of those girls. They are cruel, mean-spirited jerks. If they cared more about a person and less about getting what they want, if you get my drift, they’d find out some of those beautiful girls are horrible people, and that some of us who are less than perfect are wonderful.

My best friend, Reese, is one of those people. She has so much acne that people call her mean things, like Pizza Face. She’s so nice. She's a straight A student, sings beautifully (we met in Choir), and will do almost anything for anyone. She is the epitome of grace and kindness. I want to be like her when I grow up. She’s awesome.

The boys don’t think so. They call her mean things and laugh when she walks down the hallway to the next class. I tried to say something, but she stopped me. “That’s not Christian, Nora. We love our enemies, not fight back. I just turn the other cheek and keep going. They’re the ugly ones, the pitiful, self-conscious, and insecure ones who really need someone to love them. Did you ever think of that?”

No, I hadn’t thought of it that way. I was fuming that they could be so mean to people. Some people are treated even worse. Kids have tried to kill themselves because of the meanness of another person.

Moving on: in an effort to be noticed, and told I was beautiful, like a couple of my friends who are popular, I started trying to fit in. I wore their type of clothes, though cheaper. I started fixing my hair every single day. I started wearing make-up. That was a trial in itself. I started out with too much, which got me noticed, and told to go to clown school.

Jenna, a friend of mine who happens to be part of the more popular crowd, but also has a heart of gold, helped me learn to put on the eye color and cheek color so I wouldn’t look like I had arrived in time for the circus recruiter. She even taught me how to wear colors for my skin tone. She’s a sweetie, for sure.

My efforts have been in vain. I have guy friends, and they seem to like me for me, but I want that special one that thinks I’m gorgeous. I look, no, glare, at the couples who are walking down the hall holding hands. Why doesn’t someone want to value me? That’s all I want: to be loved ... to be beautiful.