“You’re the most beautiful girl in whole world, inside and out!” the grandfather said to his plain faced granddaughter starring wide-eyed up at him through thick glasses. Thank God I was in a dark movie theatre and alone or else there would have been some shock at the tears I shed at that moment. I felt like every little girl should have someone in her life that would say that to her and mean it. Most of all, me. It was too late for that now.

It’s true that my mother had told me at a young age that I had enviable eyelashes, which of course would mean nothing to me until mascara. While we were watching the Miss America pageant I asked her “Mommy, could I be Miss America?”
“No your legs are too short. Shame.” I was five. I think I had some considerable growing to do and the correct answer to that question, Moms everywhere, is “Darling you’re far too intelligent to be judged as a person solely on the basis of your beauty.” You can say that to any daughter no matter how ugly or how pretty for that matter, and you can’t go wrong. Substitute “talented” or “incredible” for “intelligent” as you wish, but you still can’t go wrong!

As I watched the Girl’s National Gymnastics competition on television in a non-Olympic year, I realized things could have been worse. During the floor exercise event I watched the rhythm-less girls tumble, tumble, pose (awkward), pose (weirder) and my patience wore thin. My desire to give them a dance lesson or two grew, knowing we would be slaughtered at World’s by the graceful gymnasts of Eastern Europe where they had practically invented ballet. Then the defending National Champion took flight, a swan amongst ducks: beautiful, elegant and graceful. I never wanted it to end! But when it did she took a tiny step out of bounds. After some 86 somersaults on and off the floor, who could blame her? Her Dad, that’s who. It was immediately clear that this Russian man, Mr. Olympic Gold Medal Gymnast, was more than just Coach. Only a parent can reprimand you that way, the way only family members know how to truly insult you. All the remarkable things she had done were moot because of that one foul step. And this was just the beginning of 4 events.

I watched as he got progressively more vicious, resorting to Russian for the big oopsies. I had no idea how this girl could live without breaking or breaking him. In her final exercise, the balance beam, she almost fell off, but held her ground, stayed on and went on to polish off a perfect routine. I’d have just slammed into the floor and called it a day. Her father wouldn’t even speak to her afterwards, he gave her a look that could cut ice and she dashed behind the curtains alone to wait for her score. She won and I have never felt more sorry for the champion of anything in my life. Perhaps it was because of this strictness and the constant tearing down to perfection that he was able to train his daughter to be the miraculous gymnast she was, that even on a bad day she could win the National Championships. Who wanted to win if it meant destroying your sensibilities for the rest of your life?

My parents had pushed me all the way to the Ivy League and when I got there I didn’t just fall flat on my face, I fell down the rabbit hole. In spite of all the personal demons that were cultivated inside me to conspire against my sanity, strangely, after four very painful years I did in fact graduate on the strength of my academic work. Perhaps my parents’ constant pressuring for all I can remember about my youth had served a purpose after all, and it had certainly been just as “effective” in helping in my personal emotional torture. Just ask any one of my shrinks.

I suppose it’s not as simple as hearing “You’re the most beautiful girl in whole world, inside and out!” once, you need to be told it often enough to believe it so when you’re older it can become a part of your mantra. There’s a monumental difference between telling your child they’re the best and telling them to be better than everyone else. The girl who came in fourth, whose mother had created bright pink T-shirts that said “Go Chelsea!” for a large group of family members cheering in the audience, got to enjoy her victory. For Chelsea, her family made her feel like the most important person there and she went home a winner. Unlike the girl who actually was better than everyone else, whose father had made it clear that she was not his best. If only she knew there was some (non-perverted) stranger who thought she was the most beautiful girl in the world, at least for a moment.