NO SHAME

One day my sister Libby was walking along a storefront and she glanced over at the store window and stopped short, asking herself, “What’s Aunt Mary doing here?” 

Our Aunt Mary had died years before. What Libby was seeing was a reflection of her own self.

It would only take visiting a Parrish family reunion to see that we, of this bloodline, have a propensity toward, how do I put this?... abundant body structure.

We have hips.

We have rumps.

And thick arms and thighs and such.

If I were not me and were just observing from a scientific standpoint photographs from generations of Parrish’s, I would say, “Oh yes, there’s obviously a thread of DNA weaving through that clan. These are people who saw blocks of ice out of frozen rivers and lift houses off their foundations. Bulk folk.”

Aunts Mary, Ruby, Becky and Ruth

Aunts Edna, Ruth, Mary, Mom, Mae and Uncle Parks

David’s family, on the other hand, has petite down pat. All four of his grandparents were shorter than 5 feet tall. 

I do not harbor a whole lot of regret in my life, but there is one thing that, if I could, I would go back and do over. I would release myself from shame over my body.

It is more complex than a few paragraphs might explain, but I wish now that I had allowed my spirit to be content with the body it had. Instead, I spent my entire adult life apologizing for the way I looked. I spoke in unkind, flippant terms about my largesse, thinking that if I acknowledged how big my body was people might forgive me for having it. Like, seriously, why would I even think I should need to be forgiven for my physical condition?

It’s complex, and it’s sad. And so unnecessary.

The other night, before one of my sisters headed off to Hawaii for a little respite, I asked what they did for a whole week in Hawaii. (I know, that seems like a stupid question.) She mentioned that, among other things, they went swimming every day. I told her that I was so impressed she would put a swim suit on and go swimming. You might be reading this and thinking this is a ridiculous thing to say, but you also may not have the large body of the clan I come from.

Ann Marie smiled and said, well if I want to swim I need a suit. 

See, when you have body shame you let appearances override everything else. So this body of mine hasn’t seen itself in a swim suit for decades. Isn’t that sad? It’s sad for me, for sure, but the thing that makes me get choked up with sorrow is that I have taught this to my daughters, inadvertently. They have taken it into themselves to varying degrees, but what they have, they got from me, with the enthusiastic support of the media. I am sorry.

So I realize all this now, in my aging years, and I cannot fix it in one fell swoop. But I have realized I can do something about other social shames. And so I declare, with pride, that I am 62 years old today! And I refuse to give in to age shame!

It’s been probably a decade now since we started mysteriously receiving the AARP magazine. It just showed up in our mailbox one day. The American Association of Retired Persons, I think that’s what AARP means. I remember having a twinge of irritation at receiving it. But I decided right around then that I was going to embrace this “getting old” stuff. 

Advancing age is a delicate thing for some professions. It’s tough for anyone who spends a bit of time on stage, especially for a woman. Spotlights certainly can’t hide certain things. And vocal chords need special training to deal with advancing years. My poor vibrato jiggles as much as my belly does these days! That does bother me. But I am more careful to verbally celebrate my age than I ever was celebrating the fact that God gave be a body.

Once, way back, when I was spending a fair amount of time in Nashville, I rode an elevator with Emmy Lou Harris. Emmy had been known for her long dark hair. I remember chatting with her, seeing how young her face was, but very much aware of how she had allowed her prematurely graying hair to grow naturally. I remember wondering why she didn’t dye it. That memory is pretty profound for me, because I caught myself judging someone, and it bothered me that I did. She totally gets to pick what she does with who she is. And now Emmy is known for not only her distinctive voice and her awesome leadership in the musical community, she is also known for her lovely silver hair. Way to lead out, Emmy Lou!

Truth is, from my perspective, it is pretty awesome that I get to say I am sixty-two years old! I really should be dead, with certain maladies in my past. But I am not! I am alive, semi-healthy, and still worthy of doing whatever I feel inspired to do. There are some wonderful advantages that come with age. Last night I got the senior discount at the movie theater. I don’t feel the need to suck in my belly when one of my grandkids throws their arms around my waist. It’s totally ok that I keep a pair of reading glasses on top of my head. 

There are wonderful, beautiful life stories that have piled up underneath me, and they have lifted me higher. I naturally have more compassion and understanding for other people. I am tickled to have seen the progression of technology in my lifetime, going from not even having a typewriter to getting our first word processor, to having our first email address, then my first cell phone, and on and on. I think it is so cool to have seen all this, the same way my parents saw the automobile advance and a human walk on the moon. I am humbled to say I remember first-hand the day John Kennedy was shot, and Dianna became a princess, and the Twin Towers went down.

I look in the mirror and see my mother emerging day after day. I embrace this. And I celebrate it. If I look at myself as pure aesthetic, I’m not loving the wrinkles or the sags or the limpy legs. But when I see tall this as evidence that I am still functioning as a spirit with a body, then I think this is just fabulous! I still have my body, and it still lets me do a lot of things. Not everything, of course, but that’s ok. I’ll take what I can get and be grateful.

I am 62 years old, and I still get on stage and sing my songs and I still write and record and I still take my littles to the park and do all sorts of stuff I did forty years ago. But I do them now with more wisdom, more virtual grace, and much more gratitude. No shame in that.