Is Elegance All in the Mind?

In a world of gazelles, I’m a shepherd pony.

I admire elegance, always have, and you think I’d absorb some from the graceful people I’ve known.

In junior high, I so admired Edna (and you know who you are). She was stylish and easy-going, accepted everyone, was liked by everyone. She wore the required skirts, but hers were pleated with matching sweaters or tops, and MATCHING TENNIS SHOES. I so envied that. I’ve no doubt that she grew up just as friendly and poised.

I did learn as much from students in school as from teachers and lessons. I’m not just talking about the “what not to do” lessons, either.

For example.

We all dreaded speeches in front of the class, regardless of topic. (In fact, at Lawrence Tech, I saved the speech class for the very last semester of the very last year.) I can understand the need for communication skills and getting out your view, but those teen years are probably the worst time in your life to instill that.

So, high school English, one of my favorite classes. I was the student in your class who brightened at the “write a poem” assignment and never groaned. But when our teacher insisted on a verbal book report, in front of the class, I did groan. Reading? Great. Book report? No problem. Speak in front of the class? Terror.

I didn’t volunteer, not having learned that the earliest done, the more relief (and sometimes, the better grade). So, I was one of the last to face the firing squad. Well, other than Marty.
Marty was another to admire. Smart, funny, clever, self-confident, good-looking. I’ve no doubt that he’s gone on to create a video game company or sell anything he wants to.

We lucked out on the last day to deliver the book reports. We had a sub. You all remember how awful we were to subs (especially Mrs. Lake in high school. She was courageous or desperate to keep returning. For any giggling or unkindness, Mrs. Lake, I thoroughly apologize). The sub had the names of those who still had to complete the speech, or fail the project, so I got mine done and scuttled back to my seat. Then Marty strolled to the front of the class.

I’m fairly certain he didn’t put it off because of dread, but just because. He announced his title and gave us a synopsis. A wonderful speaker, he fascinated us with the plot and suspense. The book, however, was one I’d read and the report he shared had nothing to do with that story. I decided to ask him what the title really was after class, since I was burning to read it.

“Oh, that?” he said. “I just made it up as I went. I didn’t actually read a book for the report.”

Now, that’s what I call self-assurance.

Self-assurance is my sister who decided to try out for baton twirling in our school band. She practiced with the dime store baton that my parents gave her, since she hadn’t mentioned her goal, merely an interest. Took the toy to the tryouts and was accepted.

And she’s elegant, too.

Marty, wherever you are, if you became a writer, let me know where to find your books.

And Edna, wherever you are, you left behind an appreciation for poise and beauty that comes from within.

My sister I’ve always admired, and do today.

Still wish I was more elegant.

I retired recently from an elementary school here in Florida as data entry secretary (student records, schedules, grades, state audits), and one afternoon, I was walking down the hall with our ladylike, refined assistant principal.

“Hey, Andrea,” I said, “why is it that you and I are wearing the same slacks, the same polo shirt, and you look elegant, while I…well, don’t?”

“My dear,” she said, “elegance is all in the mind.”

I’ve decided that writers don’t need to be elegant.