As I was unpacking boxes from the recent move, I came across a package of old pictures and slides. I enjoy a good trip down Memory Lane, so I opened the envelope and began thumbing through goofy pictures of my brothers and sisters and I in our youth. The 70s were not kind to any of us. But after a few moments, and a lot of giggles, I came across a picture I was sure I had never seen before. While the rest of the photographs had yellowed and faded, this particular picture was immaculate and crisp, like the day it had first been processed (yes, this is before we had the blessing of digital photography, kids).
I must've stared at it for at least a minute before I realized what I was staring at. It was a picture of my mother, looking more beautiful than I had ever seen her. At first I didn't recognize her. In nearly all the pictures from my youth she has short hair, glasses, and no makeup. But in this picture, she looked incredible. She was thin, but not sickly, and wearing very tight jeans (again, the 70s). She had on high-heeled sandals and a low-cut pink blouse. Her face was freshly made, with matching pink lipstick. Her hair was shoulder-length, layered, and glossy. If I didn't recognize her eyes, I might have thought it was a model. She was absolutely gorgeous, leading me to believe this picture must've been taken before my brothers and sisters and I were around - we had a tendency to leave her looking tired and disheveled.
Of all the things that looked incredible in her picture - her makeup, her clothes, her figure, her hair - there was one thing that was completely unmistakably "Vicki". She barely cracked a smile - something common to all of her pictures, even dating back to her childhood photos. And then there were her eyes. Even if she had grinned from ear to ear, her eyes would never reveal what she was really thinking, and I guarantee that she was thinking about something. Her mind never stopped. And her eyes, never sad, but always deep in thought in some other time or dimension, wouldn't ever really let you see inside to what was going on behind her beautiful exterior.
I always thought my mom was pretty. Especially in the pictures my grandma showed me of her sweet baby girl all the way through high school. She was long and lean, with gorgeous hair and skin, and elegant and graceful. She always looked confident, without looking egotistical. But as pretty as I thought she was, she seemed to want to be photographed. She enjoyed being on the other side of the camera, with the ability to do what cameras couldn't ever seem to do for her - see past the beautiful shell to the inner workings of one of the most intelligent, determined women I had ever had the pleasure to know. In every picture, her eyes seemed to put up a barrier that wouldn't allow for emotion to show through.
My mom didn't dress up much when I was a kid. She said pantyhose were uncomfortable, and high heels made her feet hurt. She said she was glad when my dad's business took off and she was able to stay home with us kids. Ironically, she once told me, her feet hurt from that job worse than an entire day in heels. But the job of stay-at-home-Mom didn't allow for glamour. She stayed busy running after us, shuttling us to and from school and practice, cleaning, running errands, and keeping a tight ship. Now that I am home with my kids, I definitely understand - and appreciate - why she didn't have time or energy for dresses and makeup. There were very few occasions for wearing something other than blue jeans and tennis shoes. But in this picture, with her hair done, her makeup looking incredible, and figure-flattering clothes, my mom looked like a completely different woman. I could see why my dad was so attracted to her.
My mom was an amazing lady. I treasure the memories I keep of her - even the sloppy, disheveled, messy ones. But this was a side of her I rarely saw. And I am so thankful that it was captured on film.
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