[Part 2 of a 4-Part Poetry Series Honoring National Poetry Month]
Yesterday a co-worker showed me cell phone photos of her grandkids at an Easter egg hunt (at her father’s country club). Cute kids. She pointed out the youngest of the three, seven-year-old Sarah, with pigtails and a hat, and mentioned “the odd outfit.” It looked like a white tulle ballet skirt with dark shorts underneath a light colored top, black cardigan sweater, and red rubber boots. I thought she looked adorable.
Sarah really stood out from the other girls that wore the standard frou-frou Easter dresses. My co-worker said she tells Sarah’s Mom (her daughter) to “dress her better” as apparently Sarah picks out her outfits all by herself. She is fond of wearing two different socks instead of a matched set! I told my co-worker I thought it was great Sarah dressed like that, that it showed self-confidence, that she was expressing who she was, and “should be encouraged” to continue to do so.
The co-workers said she would tell Sarah’s Mom what I said, but that she thought Sarah should “conform more.”
I told the co-worker that there is nothing great about conformity (in fact, I hate it) but I left it at that. You can’t really butt in to other people’s child rearing lives, especially if you don’t even know them!
I hope Sarah is allowed to dress the way she pleases and no one (especially parents, grandmothers, and peer groups) tries to dissuade her otherwise—and tries to change her uniqueness. Sarah does not need to change. She just needs to be who she is. Not somebody’s version of who they think she should be.
That’s why today when picking out poems to comment on for Poetry Month, the one below made me think of this special little seven year old and hope that she grows up to be a woman like the one in Maya Angelou’s “phenomenal” poem.
I think she’s on the right track…
Phenomenal Woman By Maya Angelou
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can’t see.
I say,
It’s in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
‘Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
