Sunday, February 8, 2015

A Face For Radio

So I'm sitting here waiting for the dear head of household to return from his obligatory one Sunday at the warehouse a month purgatory. The Heir and the spare are draped across various pieces of furniture in the living room transfixed by the latest airing of game grumps or some inane video understood and appreciated only by young bachelor lions in small groups, and I am afforded a moment to think. It's probably not a good thing.
You see there is a reason I rarely blog anymore. Actually there are several reasons but the excuse du jour is simply - my face. Which may seem a bit odd since blogging doesn't require one's face, just one's fingers in whatever capacity said fingers are engaged to one's cortex - but for me the dots are all connected. It seems that for all my desire to bring beauty and light into the world - I am still attached to my face. And my face trumps me every time.
We're all passable as kids for the most part, and for most, God is merciful enough to limit the awkward years but some of us just get stuck in the land of bumps and lumps and jagged lines and we never smooth out. We develop a face for radio, and no amount of cool makeup and hair tricks seems to cover it.
For me this reality gelled when I was between my senior year of high school and my freshman year in college. I bit on some well coiffed, besuited male with nice teeth telling me "Wow, you should be a model. have you ever considered classes?"  Six weeks later and a few hundred dollars poorer I still remember seeing myself on camera, and the Sheena Easton clone of a teacher we had telling me, "You have a nice speaking voice.  You should consider radio broadcasting."
I've had a few bright moments. My senior picture, at least the one that landed in the year book. Ok, I was the pinkest person on the page (not white. PINK) but it was passable. A few wedding pictures. We had a competent photographer and the dress hid a lot of "eew" and a couple of 2011 face book head shots I keep circulating (laptops are forgiving. Iphones are not) but for the most part it is becoming too embarrassing to even try. Sometimes I blame my ample girth but still. The me in the mirror is who she is and I have to accept it.
I'm not divulging this in hopes that someone or two someones will attempt to pillar my flagging ego with platitudes. I can smell a lie faster than a mosquito can smell your hide on a summer evening by the bosque. I just want one person perhaps to register that those of us with faces for radio still have so much to offer. I am not who you see. I am capable of blessing you - but if you pass me off as just another awkward aging idiot or worse yet; you consign me to that place of  invisible because my teeth are crooked, and my chins are saggy, and I have crazy cat lady hair - you void the potential for both of us...and you make me sad.
I get it that God sees the inside of a soul, and that is where we should place our worth. Valid knowledge and real wisdom but in the day to day we're all walking this out in our skins. And we're putting each other in rank order based on the transience of what society calls beauty. I'm not pretty. I'm not even pleasantly forgettable. I'm fast approaching scary. Its better if you don't take that picture if I'm in frame, but I still have so much to offer. Please don't dismiss me. Flab and freckles and gray hair...they're not contagious. My hands and my heart work the same as yours. Perhaps if we all attempted to see one another through the eyes of God...
Peace.