My portrait

Whenever we're in town, Earl and I have a standing play date on Thursdays with our granddaughters, Zoe and Lexi.  We had picked them up at school and Lexi struck up a conversation as we headed home.

"Grandma," announced Lexi (7) proudly.  "I made a portrait of you."

"Really?  I can't wait to see it!"  I replied, wondering if she had perfected the stick figure depictions typical of her age group.  How would she handle my limited mobility?  My aging?  Children are so unashamedly honest* and candid.  We had already had the discussion about why my hands looked so old.  But perhaps she had forgotten.  I was actually looking forward to seeing her visual impressions.

Grandma?  Seriously?
Earl and I took them back to their house, where Elizabeth and Jason were preparing dinner for all of us.  Lexi disappeared into her bedroom to fetch the aforementioned portrait.  When she presented it, I found myself looking at a 'sticker' picture (brilliant idea) of a perky female with short blonde hair, big blue eyes, great lips and a pair of fun striped glasses.  She appeared to be in her twenties and I grumbled to myself, "In my dreams—40 years ago...  I bet her boobs are even perky."

On the other hand, if those are the parts Lexi saw, who was I to argue? It wasn't important that my eyes are greenish–at least she gave me eyes. The eyes in the picture were even a bit crossed like mine.  My glasses have plain black frames, but now I'm thinking I could do stripes.  That was my new reality now and I was going for it!

"Sorry, Grandma," said Lexi.  "They didn't have any wrinkle stickers.  That would have made your portrait look old like you."  Ah well, the fantasy was nice while it lasted.   Ordinarily, I find a child's honesty and forthrightness refreshing.  This time however, I did take possession of the portrait before she thought to draw wrinkles on.  Whatever it takes, self image trumps reality in my mind.  Thanks to my mother's good skin, hair color and make up, I consider myself a moderately attractive woman.  Earl (my last date) thinks so and that works for me.  But really... I'm 67 and neither visually nor cognitively (maybe a bit forgetful) impaired.

I framed my new portrait and hung it next to Lexi's big sister Zoe's (10) five-year-old abstract finger painting.  The art wall is just behind my computer and it makes me happy.  A friend had painted Skeeter and me heading down the driveway and her oil painting has become one of my treasured possessions.  Now, the wall's only lacking contributions from Sarah and Kyle.  I think I'm going to nag them so I can complete the exhibit. 

My 'Happy' place

The lesson: Beware.  A child's honesty can cut both ways.

 *Previous post:  Out of the Mouths of Babes

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