Tag Archives: homely

Andersen, Hans Christian

dictionary with letter A

Andersen, Hans Christian (1805-75): Danish author noted for his fairy tales, such as “The Snow Queen,” “The Ugly Duckling” and “The Little Match Girl.”

I ferociously attempt not to become cynical.

Matter of fact, I consider cynicism to be one of the more dangerous vices in the human nuclear arsenal of available missiles.

But at the same time, I grow weary of ideas that appear to be optimistic but really are pandering to an ongoing philosophy: “normal is the best.”

Nowhere is this more obvious than in the work of Andersen with “The Ugly Duckling.”

I don’t think we understand the message of this particular tale. What is communicated to me is that a little bird who appears to be an ugly duckling has to hang on through its grotesque phase, because in the end, the bird will end up in the “Kingdom of Normal”–as beautiful, evolving into a swan.

Is this really what we want to communicate? What if you are just an ugly duck? What if you aren’t an emerging swan?

What if you just plopped out of your mother with an incurable dose of homely? Is there room for an ugly duckling who doesn’t become a swan–to still gain acceptance, or even prosperity?

I know my man Hans thought he was being generous of spirit by portraying that those who were less fortunate or not well-endowed should persevere to someday gain place in our society.

But the place he promised them was beauty. We don’t all end up beautiful! There is a whole majority of the human race that has to learn to become functionally ugly.

  • They will never be airbrushed.
  • They will never be gorgeous.
  • They will not achieve stunning.
  • And they certainly don’t become swans.

So understanding that Mr. Hans was trying to bring honor to the Andersen family by putting forth a positive message, it ends up not being very Christian.

Here’s the truth:

Sometimes ugly ducklings stay ugly and only gain beauty and value … through determination.

 

 

 

 

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Thank you for enjoying Words from Dic(tionary) —  J.R. Practix

Amputate

dictionary with letter A

Amputate: (v): to cut off a limb, typically by surgical operation.

I have eight toes.

I started out with ten–a full complement. But when I got an infection in the big toe on my left foot and it spread to the next toe and threatened to become equally as evangelistic to all the surrounding little piggies, it became necessary for the doctor to come in and snatch two of ’em.

I was not favorable to this.

Even though the infection was threatening to go into gangrene, I had grown fond of having ten toes and considered it to be beneath me, as an intelligent individual, to trim down to eight.

It was explained to me that I didn’t really need ten toes–a similar conversation that young mothers have with their homely daughters when trying to point out the positive aspects of being plain.

I knew I didn’t need ten toes. (Well, I didn’t know, but I assumed that my feet would still work with eight.)

It’s just that I didn’t want to be weird.

I didn’t want to be that guy who was physically debilitated or weakened, making him seem a bit pitiful instead of powerful.

It’s not that a lot of people see your toes. Matter of fact, there are only certain occasions when such a revealing is even plausible.

But I saw–and my opinion matters to me.

But when it came down to a choice between dying or losing my two toes, I chose to bid farewell and bon voyage to the fellas.

It reminds me of an idea put forth in the Good Book: “If your right hand offends you, cut it off.” For it’s better to make it to heaven without a hand than to show up someplace else with a diseased appendage.

Interesting.

Of course, there are spiritual applications across the board–but I think one of the signs of maturity is knowing when to give up on things that are not working and cut them away before they taint and destroy everything else.

It’s never easy. After all, we grow accustomed to the face of our circumstance.

But as I sit here today–with eight toes–writing to you, I realize that it does not make a lot of difference.

Because even with eight … you can still keep your toes in the water.

 

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Abzug

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Abzug: Bella (1920-98) U.S. politician, lawyer and women’s rights activist. She helped to found Women Strike for Peace in 1961. Serving in Congress as a Democrat from New York, she fought for the rights of women and the poor.

Sometimes progress is so slow that we actually fail to notice that it’s going on. It is the short-sighted part of the human race that often makes us unsuitable for either the jungle or the boardroom.

But when I thought about Bella Abzug, fond memories returned. She was not exactly what you would call an attractive woman. Generous folks would have referred to her as “handsome,” and less gratuitous comments could have included “homely.”

I am certainly glad she was not around for this 24-hour news cycle, where her appearance would have been ridiculed in an attempt to render her words ineffective. That’s what we do nowadays, you know. When we are unable to contradict the objections of an intelligent spirit which has stormed into our presence, we make the attacks personal so as to dismiss their effectiveness by pointing out their physical oddities.

No, I am sure Bella Abzug would have been joked about as the classic lesbian, or mocked as someone’s “ugly grandmother.”

Often it takes people like Bella to come along to plant the seeds of discontent in order for some weeds of frustration to grow up in the midst of our neat little “social garden,” and bring attention to the fact that not everybody is going to be a “cute tomato.”

We need her. We actually need MORE like her.

I, for one, am sick and tired of only listening to people I’m supposed to agree with, who make sure that their language is so sterile that it can neither offend nor instruct.

Bella said some tough things. Bella was brash. Bella was angry. Bella believed that anger was a good thing when it was vented against stupidity.

I don’t know if a Bella Abzug could exist in our present society. We would probably put her in a back office somewhere and make her the speechwriter for some blond bimbo who could more easily acquire the vote. I don’t know if we would ever allow her a microphone, a platform or an opportunity to spit fire in our faces.

But it’s because Bella Abzug lived that women today have the opportunity to argue about their positions and be heard–because so many years ago, she pointed out the fallacy in a system that was convinced of its infallibility.

Sometimes we need to stop and be grateful for the people who live, breathe, fight and die, never seeing their dreams come to fruition. Because of their plantings and hard work, the garden still has a chance to grow.

Because of their lives, we still have a chance to overcome our ignorance.

Abscess

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Abscess: n. a swollen area within body tissue, containing an accumulation of pus.

I was trying to figure out an acceptable–dare I say pleasant?–way to present the concept of pus. Absent any constructive idea, I was reminded of a time when I was infected with the nasty goo.

I was twenty-two years old, traveling around the country without very much money and no health insurance. One day my face started to swell up. It is a frightening thing when you are fairly homely, to realize that it is possible to become even more unattractive. At first I didn’t worry about it, which was stupid, but then on top of the swelling came great pain, light-headedness, a sensation that I had been beaten up and humiliated by a gang of aggressive nuns, and a little nausea.

I was sick.

I went to a doctor who was gracious enough to offer free service. It was good that it was free, because he thought I had a “cold in my jaw” and suggested antihistamines. I am sure that the medication did kill all my histamines, but they did not seem to be the source of the great swelling.

Finally, near the point of passing out from my affliction, my friends drove me to a dentist in Jacksonville, Florida, who looked inside my mouth, and with a bit of horror etched across his face, announced, “You have a severely abscessed tooth.”

No part of that sounded good. He suggested a treatment of antibiotics for two weeks to reduce the swelling, and then he would pull the troublesome tooth. I laughed through my pain and explained that I would not be in town in two weeks, and that I needed something done today.

He paused. I don’t know what was crossing his mind, but I imagine it had something to do with disposing the body in the Atlantic Ocean if the big, fat boy sitting in his chair died from the treatment given in his office. Actually, I will never know why he did it, but on the spot he chose to give me oral surgery, which included five shots of Novocaine, which did not deaden the anguish. Then he cut inside my mouth and squeezed out all the poison and pus from the swelling.

It was gross, sickening, painful, ugly and all the time he was doing it, he was saying little oaths and curses under his breath because he realized that he was in the midst of a great malpractice suit.

He squeezed and he squeezed, and I cringed and I cringed. After about fifteen minutes, he was satisfied that he had drained the well. He sewed me up, handed me some antibiotics and after about a week, I was well again.

Oh, did I mention that in the same sitting, he reached in and yanked out the tooth? I think he was convinced that if I left his office, I would never try to get help again.

That was my experience with an abscess. Sometimes you just have to cut into it and squeeze out the guck.

It is never pleasant, but if you don’t, all the poison ends up winning.