B is for Beautiful

B is for Beautiful

I had lunch with my sister B on Sunday.

I hadn’t seen B in years, so it was nice to catch up and see how she’s changed. She’s slimmer now, much taller than I remembered, and very stylishly dressed. I’ve always envied her lighter, smoother skin, her shapely nose, her height, and her bee-stung lips, but it was odd to see it all come together so nicely in her adulthood.

The day made me think of my younger cousins, the kids I babysat in my youth because I was the eldest girl in the bunch. I’ve seen a few recent photos of them, and they have all grown into attractive young men and women with individual hobbies and interests, jobs and ways of life.

One of my cousins is just 22 or 23, and already she’s bought herself a condo. When I consider the fact that I’m still renting, I find myself very proud of her. Another one of my cousins, to whom I once gave piano and singing lessons, is really into music & art and plans to go to art school one day, which also makes me proud.

This must be what parents, aunts, and uncles feel when the children they’ve watched develop over the years grow into adulthood. The baby fat falls away, and in its place independence takes root. They become their own people, each beautiful in his or her own way.

Perhaps I’m biased, but my sister and cousins are beautiful, inside and out.

And it’s even nicer to know that I had a part in that, however small.

Share this post:
FacebooktwitterredditpinterestlinkedintumblrmailFacebooktwitterredditpinterestlinkedintumblrmail

4 thoughts on “B is for Beautiful”

  2. "And it’s even nicer to know that I had a part in that, however small."

    You … gave birth to your own cousins?

    ;^p

  3. Awww, Minnie. :o)

    Dave… er… you must think I live within the incest belt of America, lol. I helped raise my cousins, silly. ;o)

  4. Haven’t talked to you in a while. Wanted to drop a note to say hello. Reading some of the journals reminds me so much of our childhood. For some reason I remember how you walked to our house with a screw in your shoe. By the time you got to my house your white Keds were blood soaked. I remember your cheer camp cartoon journal, your water bed, your shiny black hair and dancing (flailing our arms) in your room with the music blaring. Things are different…yet still the same. I hope you’re doing good and taking care of yourself.

Comments are closed.

Comments are closed.