Saturday, March 19, 2011
With a big nose, big ears, bad hair, and head gear, I certainly didn't rate high against my male peers in terms of looks. My self-image was probably worse than my real image, but my real image didn't have it going on, let's just say. But maybe that worked in my favor in the long run, to not have my looks to fall back on, and instead to be mindful that smarts and kindness mattered.
It's from this frame of reference that I now consider my role as a dad to a son. For unlike me, Aaron is quite handsome, dashing even. And it's my job to make sure he doesn't use those good looks to get away with stuff: to think more highly of himself than he ought, or to be mean to others.
Not that I mind that Aaron is good-looking. Especially since he was adopted, I can fully embrace any kind words that are sent my way about him, without sounding like a vain father whose good genes helped make those good looks possible: when people tell me Aaron's so handsome, it's easy for me to reply, "he is, isn't he?" And then I remind myself of my responsibility and commitment to make sure he's high-quality on the inside as well.