When Maria walked into my British Literature class at the semester’s beginning, her stylish attire and thick, glossy, perfectly coiffed, blonde hair impressed me. I thought, if only all female students dressed that well. Nowadays, many don’t. The way some appear in public is appalling: shorts that are little more than panties, T-shirts hanging beneath blouses, garishly colored hair, and dirty, unlaced sneakers. They look like tramps.
A few months later, before Christmas break, Maria strutted into class dressed like a tramp, with her hair dyed fluorescent green. Sadly, I shook my head, realizing she had succumbed to peer group fads. During that session we discussed Shakespeare’s sonnets. In one, he described his lady’s outward appearance: Her hair resembled black wires, her breath reeked, her voice droned monotonously dull, her walk was a waddle, and so on. Even so, he loved her.
When I asked Maria why Shakespeare loved the woman, despite her unattractive outward appearance, her answer was just what the class needed to hear: “She was beautiful where it really counts: on the inside.”
Her response brought to mind a boyhood memory. One Christmas Eve, my boyhood best friend and mentor Jaybird and I were lounging on his front porch, looking across Dad’s Mississippi Delta farm, the fields harvested and bare, when a car pulled up.
“Well, I’ll swear,” Jaybird said, “It’s my old friend Leon.”
A tiny bow-legged little black man with a missing arm and a humped back got out of the car. A scraggly beard covered his wizened face, he limped along with a cane, and was missing all but a few teeth. That is one ugly man, I thought.
Leon plopped down in a chair. “And who might this be?” he asked, pointing his cane toward me. Chuckling, Jaybird referred to me as his white son, Junior. Leon began asking me questions. He wanted to know all about me. Every time I answered, he remarked, “Why, that is wonderful,” “How interesting,” or “I’ll bet Jaybird is mighty proud of you.”
Then he hobbled back to the car and fetched a large bag. “Leon always brings me some of his delicious homemade candy for Christmas; this time he wants you to have it,” Jaybird said, handing me the bag. From then on, I looked forward to Leon’s visits, and he never failed to bring me a gift. His kindness made me ashamed of my previous thoughts about his disfigurements and ugliness. He was beautiful where it really counts: on the inside.
In our first session after the Christmas holidays, Maria was dressed smartly and her hair was its normal color. “Mom said natural is far more beautiful than unnatural and that I must take pride in the way God made me. Ashamed of disappointing Mother and the Lord, I washed out the dye,” she explained.
“Mom was right — your natural hair color is gorgeous,” I said. “Young lady, you are beautiful on the outside, but even more beautiful where it really counts: on the inside.”
Jimmy Reed is an Oxford, Mississippi resident, Ole Miss and Delta State University alumnus, Vietnam Era Army Veteran, former Mississippi Delta cotton farmer and ginner, author, and retired college teacher.
This story is a selection from Jimmy Reed’s latest book, entitled The Jaybird Tales.
Copies, including personalized autographs, can be reserved by notifying the author via email (.(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)).
