Perceptions

Perceptions

A mother looks at her daughter, what does she see? An adult. A strong,
fiercely independent young woman. When this child was born, her parents
were in awe of the beautiful thing they had created. But that emotion
pales into insignificance when the mother looks at her daughter now, a
grown woman. I can scarcely believe I helped to create this creature,
she thinks to herself, and that my body fed hers only twenty-three
years ago.
When she looks at her daughter, the mother sees her own eyes, her own
hair, her husband's nose, her husband's height. She sees a confidence
in the way that her daughter dresses, in the way that she carries
herself. She sees beauty beyond imagining; and intelligence, style, the
courage to pursue an education and a career. The mother sees that at
the same age, she was never this strong, this sure - never has been and
never will be so certain of what her own future holds. My daughter, she
thinks, my proudest achievement.

A man looks at a girl across a crowded bar, what does he see? A great
figure, a girl who knows how to make the best of what she's got. This
he sees first, and it draws him in.
She talks animatedly to her friends, they laugh at the story she tells,
and she smiles with their reaction. As she talks, she gently pushes a
curl of long dark hair behind her ear. As he watches, it works its way
loose and falls across her face; she absent-mindedly tucks it back
again. He grows to love this gesture when they become lovers - an
irritation for her, a heart tug for him.
Not knowing she is being watched, the girl sits back in her seat and
listens to another of her friends speak. This girl must realise, the
man thinks, what she can do to a man. That she can get him exactly
where she wants him with just a hint of that smile. Colour rises to her
cheek as if she can sense his gaze. She turns, makes eye contact, he is
captivated. My angel, he thinks, sent to save me.

A girls looks at herself in the mirror, what does she see? Pale skin,
never comfortable without a shield of make-up. Dark shadows under her
eyes - thin skin inherited from her maternal grandfather. An imperfect
smile, her impatience getting the better of her before the orthodontist
discharged her. Hair with the same curl as her mother's, that won't
ever stay behind her ears as she likes it. Good shoulders, a tiny
waist, a good top half let down only by the uneven skin on her back,
sun-damaged fruit-picking at the age of sixteen. Rounded hips that her
mother praises as womanly, and feet in need of a pedicure.
She does not see beauty. She does not see intelligence, confidence, the
captivating smile. Not until a man that she loves takes her face gently
in his hands, and tells her all of these things, will she even begin to
believe them. Her Mother's compliments fell always upon ears that would
not hear, but for the man who calls her his angel, she is prepared to
surrender her disbelief and, slowly, to begin to see what he sees.