A LITTLE something
ONE
BEING NORMAL
***
You may have heard that once you hit your road to maturity you'll zoom happily towards your most
confident state-of-being. But let me just tell you that this is a LIE. There will still be times, like right now,
when you stand in your homecoming dress, facing a full-length mirror, filled with that familiar sense of
insecurity as you wonder which role you'll play tonight: Cinderella or the Ugly Stepsister.
If you're like me, you're more an awkward duckling than a beautiful swan. It's something I've made
my peace with. I have my share of cute days and WTH days and days that are just like eh. But sometimes I
want to believe that I can have one of those moments where I feel nearly perfect, nearly…
“Beautiful. You're absolutely beautiful.” My dad pushes my bedroom door open and stares at me with
glassy eyes. If you knew my formerly pre-programmed dad, you would know that this is not a common
reaction for him. He doesn’t get all teary eyed just because. No, this dad—my dad—is pretty hardcore with
his emotions. Or at least he was until last year when he began to notice things—like me, for instance.
But now Dad has feelings. And while I appreciate his newfound ability to remember that I exist,
sometimes his emotional side makes for some pretty uncomfortable father-daughter interactions.
“So, what do you think? Is it okay?” When I first brought this dress home from my shopping
excursion with my best friend, Marisol, Dad was pretty unhappy. He said, “I don’t know, Susie. You’re
giving me heart palpitations. That dress is a bit much. You're only sixteen...”
Which means: Go find your pacifier and play with your dolls.
He meant to make me worry. I’m sure of it. That’s why he slowly placed one hand over his heart,
while the other gripped the loveseat.
Subtext: You’re killing me.
It was all the encouragement I needed. If wearing this dress gave my poor middle-aged father an
arrhythmia, then what reaction might it cause in, say, a younger boy… the one who broke my heart?
Not that I think about Him a lot. Because I don’t.
“Dad, you okay?”
“Yep.” He turns away, his brown eyes swelling with fluid. “Fine.” But I know what he’s thinking. It’s a
predictable dad thought to have at the moment of your daughter’s first big dance. That my mom should
be here. But she can’t. Because when you’re dead, you kind of miss all the big moments in your kid’s life.
When he's composed again, he stands behind me. Together we take in my reflection: porcelain
skin, sleek 1920-inspired up-do, charcoal-rimmed eyes, and cherry-kissed lips.
Mirror Girl looks hot and not at all like me.
“Really, you do look beautiful,” he says.
And it might be true, if only for today. I turn away from him, feeling my own tide rolling in. “They’re
way late. Where are they?”
Dad crosses to my window and opens the vertical blinds. “They’re here.” He points towards a
glittering gray Hummer, rumbling beside our mailbox. “Whose eco-friendly idea was that?”
“Who do you think?”
“The reluctant homecoming date got to pick the mode of transportation?”
“Yep.” Marc is my next door neighbor, and the first and only boy I’ve ever seen naked. Of course, that
was when I was three and seeing boys naked wasn’t a big deal. Now Marc has the distinction of being the
boy who helped me nearly ruin my life last year. But all of that was last year, and now we’re past our
friends-with-benefits stage and actually friends.
“Ready?” Dad asks.
My anxiety migrates through my body and settles into that empty space in my belly. That part of
me that seems to be built as an anxiety shelter of sorts.
“Hey…” he says, sensing it. “You’ll be fine.” His arms shield my back. I breathe him in, knowing
the familiar scent of him—Pert and Right Guard—will calm me down. I bury my head in his chest. He holds
me for a second. Then he moves away, smiling down at me in that way only parents can. “I’ll meet you
outside. Got to get the camera ready.”
When he’s gone, I look back at myself in the mirror, praying that the sight of the improved-me will
somehow bring the true-me more courage. It doesn’t. I wonder if it ever will.
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