When most people think of the word “beautiful,” they think of models and movie stars. I admit I used to be one of them. I used to wish I was skinnier, had fuller lips, or eyes that were a vivid shade of blue, green, or hazel. My friends and I would talk for hours about how we wanted to be tall, beautiful women with airbrushed skin like models. Now my perspective has drastically changed.
The day that ...view middle of the document...
We decided to sit in the Playplace, so my brothers could play with all the other kids while we waited for our food. Since Mickey D's only has tables with four chairs, I'm always the one to get booted to a nearby table to sit by myself. Usually, I'm a little peeved, but this time, it worked out perfectly. As I apathetically surveyed the other customers, I was suddenly captivated by my subject. She was sitting at a table two tables away and I could look at her without her knowing. Now, I wasn't being creepy-stalker about it. A glance here, a look there, pretending to look out the window.
The half-dozen children (all about the same age) were what originally caught my attention – that and the rapid-fire Spanish I've missed since living in southern Arizona.
As I continued to watch the mother with her children, I became more and more in awe of them. The mother had an ageless quality about her. I could tell that in her youth she had been pretty, not the traditional beautiful, but a warm, inviting one. Her skin was a light brown, smooth and soft-looking, a little at odds with the fine lines around her eyes.