A Leg to Stand On - What the Cambridge Dictionary has to say:
“to have no good arguments to support your position”
Memories
I wonder how certain memories have the ability to embed themselves into our very dna. Of all the moments our lives consist of, there are so few we actually remember individually. Most mesh and assimilate into a general synopsis of a feeling covering a period of time. But certain particular ones stand out vividly on their own. I am not talking about those memories of extreme personal history like the absolute best time or the very worst. No, I want to draw attention to those seemingly insignificant memories that cross my mind time and time again that make me question their importance to my personhood. You know, like a memory from the late 70’s vacuuming the hallway shag rug in such a way to ensure every shag rug fiber was standing straight up looking so full and plush. Or the one where I am playing in the dusty dirt of the yard and find a dozen “Indian beads”. Must I hang on to these memories in order to remain myself? Why do they stay?
Schooled in Etiquette
One such memory that has plagued?…yes, “plagued” is the correct word - plagued me through adulthood occurred in 1983. I was fourteen years old, a freshman in a Christian boarding school. Etiquette class was a required credit offered in the first semester of ninth grade. Because of the sensitive nature of said topic, boys strode off to their secret location for their instruction and I joined the gaggle of girls heading towards enlightenment. A few of us walked with books balanced on heads displaying naive expectation of what the syllabus would contain amidst nervous giggles from the others.
My mind recalls Day One and no others. (Apparently I was not destined to become a fine lady.) On this day my memory holds fast. I have a fresh notebook open and pen poised to retain all manner of womanly wisdom. And then a cold sweat forms on my brow and my palms get tacky. Did our soft-spoken, modestly dressed, minimally made up example of what a godly woman should be teacher just ask us to write about our finest facial feature?
I know my mouth is open in a most unladylike manner while my mind is talking (shrieking) wildly to itself trying to understand the assignment and why?! Why are we focusing on looks? I dare steal a couple secretive glances around the room for surely no one knows what their best feature is! I am doomed 5 minutes into class.
In slow motion I see several long locks of hair get confidently flipped through the air and land over shoulders of girls who obviously have some known beauty. Others have hunkered down excitedly scratching their pens across papers. I even see a few needing to take time in query to decide which feature could be considered their best! Relieved I spot a couple other young women looking distressed?
Embarrassed?
In unchartered territory?
In unison we swallow hard with dry mouths attempting to avoid failure in life at being a girl.
Best Feature
And so I begin to write…
”My best feature would be my…” Well, certainly not my nose!
“...would be my…” No, my lips aren’t full or red or…
“...would be my…”
My mind continues to shout and argue against this requirement.
“Are we here to be pretty?”
“What about my “good personality” or even kindness? I have some of that, I think!”
“What if we don’t have any good features? What then?”
I look down to see exactly 6 words on my paper. I can’t block out the sound of pens happily scribbling away or the ticking clock racing towards a teacher’s disappointment over such a miserable creature. If this class is going to be a lesson in being beautiful, I haven’t got a leg to stand on!
Leg! That’s it! I hear through the noisy recesses of my mind another teacher from another year exclaim, “Look at that girl! She can jump like a gazelle with those long legs of hers!” Bingo! I write, “My best feature would be my legs that help me jump like a gazelle in our elementary made up game called “Higher and Higher”.
Interrupting my epiphany I hear,
“Three more minutes! Finish your paragraphs and hand your papers to the right.”
Oh no, this will NEVER do. My legs aren’t on my face!! I frantically scratch out my writing and lie,
“I believe my best feature is my eyes because they are…brown??...big??...can see fairly well with the aid of glasses??”
Here my memory blurs to extinction. I don’t remember why my eyes are my best feature. But isn’t that the way with lies?
After Beauty Fades
After decades of life beyond etiquette class, that Day One routinely surfaces and begs to be deciphered and dealt with. Let it be known I do not blame my lovely teacher. After all, it was the thinking of the time and of the establishment. We can only live in the time we are placed unless we dare be labeled “weird” or worse yet, “radical”.
So what shall we do with this nagging memory? On the surface this lesson of life could easily be boiled down to focusing on what’s inside rather than the outside. Character over Beauty. Depth rather than Shallowness. And the overworked, tired sentiment of what happens after the beauty fades.
But I think the annoying, pestering recurrence of this memory says there is something more here. I readily admit that what the last two years has thrown at my "featured legs" most likely is the culprit of this memory popping up more and more frequently.
Out of the Running
First, a quick recap of the suffering my “Best Feature” has undergone:
- I drop a desk down my right shin which removes a good amount of flesh and leaves a sizable scar.
- Get bit by a random dog on my left leg which leaves an odd silver dollar sized discoloration.
- Break my right ankle which requires surgery and leaves another even longer scar while also reducing me to literally just one leg to stand on.
- And lastly, the numerous areas of artistically woven spider veins that miraculously appear overnight in similar fashion to actual dew covered spider webs spotted on a misty morning.
Yup. Even my legs are now out of the running for Best Feature Award. And there’s the clincher. After all these years of trying to exchange the narrative and believe worth isn’t wrapped up in what is perceived as beautiful, here I was guilty of still clinging/hoping I had a best feature to tout and pull out if needed to stake a claim.
Like it mattered.
New Narrative
Hmmm, speaking of changing the narrative, let’s switch Cambridge's definition from negative to positive. Let’s go with,
“Having strong support, evidence, justification for a claim, argument or position.”
Because I do have a leg to stand on - two in fact. Those legs are called Age and Experience. They make for much better company than Insecurity and Naivety. Shifting ever so slightly on stiffer joints and creakier bones, I embrace the stories of life. A great frustration is that we get but one of these lives to experience! How can we enjoy more of life with such limited time? That is where you come in, my friend, and the people we serve and those from other cultures and anyone outside our circle. The ones who write, those who sing, others through brush strokes or pieces of invention. The aged and the very young.
Listen to the stories, for through them - the ones we are blessed to rub shoulders with - we get to experience a multitude of lives. No need for judgment, preconceived notions, expectations or rules. What we have all around us is opportunity to learn, grow, and deepen understanding - to live many, many lives.
Through their life we get to experience someone else’s “best feature” = the story of their human experience; their leg to stand on.
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