"Don’t I Look Good Though,” Mama Said.

“To describe my mother would be to write about a hurricane in its perfect power. Or the climbing, falling colors of a rainbow.” Maya Angelou

My mother had a hard-luck life.

Growing up, she and my grandmother lived in a garage behind the home of the family where my grandmother was the maid. My aunt babysat for the same family, so my aunt and her kids lived there too.

The families lived in the small garage. Other relatives would live in the garage when they needed shelter. When the big house’s family was not home, my mother used the bathroom in the big house. Otherwise, there was an outhouse behind the garage. The garage had no heat or air conditioning. There were kerosene heaters in the winter — but no way to cool the space in the summer.

Because of that hot garage, my mom hated warm milk until the day she died. She put ice in her milk> so do I.

My mother had a ninth-grade education. She dropped out of high school when she was pregnant with me. She married and had five more children. When I was ten, my siblings were six, five, three, with twins that were less than a year old.

My parents separated when I was a teenager. After that, neither of them did as well as they could have. My mother and father were better together. Like many couples, the sum of their parts was more than the pieces added together.

The Family Legend

My mom was a golden-skinned beauty. Her family knew that my mom was beautiful. Her daughters and many of her granddaughters inherited her flawless skin and smile.

Her eyes were not the typical dark brown, but a lighter, brighter color. I always wished I had her eyes. Mine are dark brown.

My mom had all of her teeth pulled when I was twelve; they were rotted and painful. Her dentures were custom. They made her smile bright and white. Many of her children inherited her bad teeth. I hate to think about the number of luxury cars I have paid for to maintain a full set of teeth in my mouth.

Like many Black women of the time, she adored Diana Ross and the Supremes. I loved to take her Diana Ross wigs to the hair shop to be combed out and styled. Ma would put the wigs on and smile that dazzling smile. She loved it when strangers told her she looked like Diana Ross because she did.

I would eagerly hang around as she put on her make-up. I had to be silent or be put out of the small upstairs bathroom. A bit of Visine in the eyes to make the whites brighter. Big fake eyelashes with black mascara around them. Vaseline on her face wiped off to leave a slight dazzle. A light touch of power on that beautiful skin. Vaseline on her teeth. Unique clothing that had been in layaway. Diligently paid off until the pieces came home — a final bit of topcoat on her nails.

I loved helping my mother dress; I was the zipper-upper. Her clothes were dramatic. After she had on her clothes and make-up, with nails and toes painted, Mama would strut across the carpet like the Queen that she was. She would walk like Diana Ross, then pirouette, flinging that hair.

There was always an audience: my cousin Dorothy, her cousins Ed, Ralph, and Annette, sometimes my father, and me.

More than physical beauty, my mother had inner beauty. Don’t be fooled; my mother was no pushover. She could drink with the best of them and she was a character.

If my mom could help you, she would. She was the keeper of secrets and consoler in chief for many people in her circle. She was not book smart, but she knew the tricks and tradeoffs of the mean streets. When she died, the church filled to overflowing with people she had touched in her life. It was something to see everyone come to say goodbye to her.

“Don’t I look good, though,” she would say. What was “Though?”

“Though, I grew up in a garage.”

“Though, I had a baby at fifteen.”

“Though, I got six bad kids.”

“Though, I struggle to keep food on the table.”

“Though, I worry every day about my family’s future.”

“Don’t I look good, though? “she would say, instilling in me that loveliness had much to do with both the physical appearance and inner spirit, and not the circumstances.

The Lesson

And yes, she did. Look good, though. Watching Ma, I learned that physical attractiveness is not static. Beauty is not based solely on how you look. Style, class, and glamour are the icing on the cake if you have a stunning spirit with the will to succeed.

My mother’s overwhelming attractiveness was a combination of her physical splendor, big heart, her kindness, and her determination.

To this day, I still don’t know how she kept six children clean and safe and fed.

My mom would be proud of all of us, especially the girls: her daughters and granddaughters. College professors, entrepreneurs, corporate executives, teachers, veterinarians, retail managers: all of us strong, kind women with a sense of style that cannot be duplicated.

We are Queens.

Don’t we look good, though?

Originally published on Medium.com - https://medium.com/no-air/dont-i-look-good-though-mama-said-a9621399fd35