Beauty, and a prayer by Tina Fey

 There is a prayer I read awhile back, written by Tina Fey, and it ranks right up there with "Yea though I walk...," "Grace," and the "Our Father," in my opinion. One section in particular stood out to me, that Mother's Day I first read it years ago, because it sums up a truth most of us don't seem to comprehend. It's a concept I internally understood, but had not yet found a way to describe, until I read Tina's inspired words. Here is that section that stood out for me:

"May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty."

The minute my oldest son was born, I was filled with that deep, cellular-level parental love, an almost indescribable feeling that is universally experienced by many, but cannot be properly defined or explained. To me, my son was the most beautiful human I had ever seen. Suddenly, every bad driver on the road was a personal threat specifically to my child, a baby food company that was selling "apple juice" with no real apple in it was a company that deserved to be put on death row for endangering my child, every leader of any country who did not immediately destroy all weapons of mass destruction was a psychotic killer threatening my child. There are now 4 other humans on this planet who are loved by me in this dna-level deep way: my 2 other children and my grands. I did nothing to manufacture how I feel for them. Like breathing, it's just there. It is something so strong, I immediately identify with and feel connected to the mother bear that is instantaneously feared by any sensible human who spots a bear cub in the wild. Whether that mother bear can be seen or not, a being who has spotted a bear cub is in very clear and present danger. That mother bear and I share a bond, and anything she does to protect her offspring is perfectly acceptable and logical to me.

I don't know where that kind of deep emotion comes from. I have no way to shut it off, or to even comprehend any scenario where I would want to shut it off. It also leaves me unable to understand any human who can see any child as a target for exploitation of any kind.

My stepmother knew exactly which children were going to make easy targets for sexual exploitation. Predators have and hone this ability to spot vulnerable prey. After decades of trying to figure out what it is about myself, and others, that makes us stand out to predators, I still can't define what it is. But I can tell you what it isn't. It isn't beauty. It isn't height or weight or gender or any of many other outward attributes that might be defined as "attractive." Whatever it is that attracts sexual predators, it does not include beauty.  

No matter my age, my clothing choices, my outward appearance, I can still be spotted and approached by predators. I am no Helen Mirren or Nichelle Nichols. I am not aging in any way that could be defined as beautiful. But I still attract predators. This is no compliment. It is a dangerous deficit I would like to be rid of. I can only conclude that whatever attracts sexual predators to specific prey, exploitation during childhood reinforces and strengthens that "attractiveness," and leaves such prey vulnerable to predators in apparent perpetuity. A person who tries to describe being such a target for predators is not bragging or being vain. They are describing what it means to be prey.

Here is Tina Fey's full prayer:

A MOTHER’S PRAYER FOR HER CHILD BY TINA FEY

“First, Lord: No tattoos. May neither Chinese symbol for truth nor Winnie-the-Pooh holding the FSU logo stain her tender haunches.

May she be Beautiful but not Damaged, for it’s the Damage that draws the creepy soccer coach’s eye, not the Beauty.

When the Crystal Meth is offered, may she remember the parents who cut her grapes in half And stick with Beer.

Guide her, protect her when crossing the street, stepping onto boats, swimming in the ocean, swimming in pools, walking near pools, standing on the subway platform, crossing 86th Street, stepping off of boats, using mall restrooms, getting on and off escalators, driving on country roads while arguing, leaning on large windows, walking in parking lots, riding Ferris wheels, roller-coasters, log flumes, or anything called “Hell Drop,” “Tower of Torture,” or “The Death Spiral Rock ‘N Zero G Roll featuring Aerosmith,” and standing on any kind of balcony ever, anywhere, at any age.

Lead her away from Acting but not all the way to Finance. Something where she can make her own hours but still feel intellectually fulfilled and get outside sometimes And not have to wear high heels. What would that be, Lord? Architecture? Midwifery? Golf course design? I’m asking You, because if I knew, I’d be doing it, Youdammit.

May she play the Drums to the fiery rhythm of her Own Heart with the sinewy strength of her Own Arms, so she need Not Lie With Drummers.

Grant her a Rough Patch from twelve to seventeen.Let her draw horses and be interested in Barbies for much too long, For childhood is short – a Tiger Flower blooming Magenta for one day – And adulthood is long and dry-humping in cars will wait.

O Lord, break the Internet forever, that she may be spared the misspelled invective of her peers And the online marketing campaign for Rape Hostel V: Girls Just Wanna Get Stabbed.

And when she one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends, For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.

And should she choose to be a Mother one day, be my eyes, Lord, that I may see her, lying on a blanket on the floor at 4:50 A.M., all-at-once exhausted, bored, and in love with the little creature whose poop is leaking up its back. “My mother did this for me once,” she will realize as she cleans feces off her baby’s neck. “My mother did this for me.” And the delayed gratitude will wash over her as it does each generation and she will make a Mental Note to call me. And she will forget. But I’ll know, because I peeped it with Your God eyes.

Amen.”  -Tina Fey