Through a "green lens"

Some people never overcome the perceived tragedies of their youth. It poisons them; and in return, in poisons others,

She was a beautiful child. Her grandfather called her “Dolly”. She looked liked a porcelain doll. She became a beautiful woman. Her beauty turned to vanity. It was the only thing she felt was her very own.

She learned early in her life that being pretty could sustain her. Being the first born of an immigrant family she met prejudice; and poverty. Her mother spent her days with her paints and canvasses; and sewing. Her father worked in a factory and spent his free time singing and crafting. She would visit her grandfather’s studio and envy the wealthy that came for their sittings. Surrounded by artists, who wanted nothing more than to create, she wanted attention and things and validation.

Her talents were enormous. She picked up the paint brush and pencils and charcoal and met the challenge of the family business. At the age of twelve, a teacher questioned her talent. She was far too young to produce such works; she must have been getting help at home. She put down the brushes and refused to paint again. Criticism did not set well with her.

When her first brother was born, Dolly tended to him. It was something she could do to please her mother; it was a relationship she could build without the shadows of her elders. Her mother gladly let her take responsibility for the house. There was a story she told many times: money was scarce and bills were abundant; Dolly was sent to the market for groceries and was denied credit; she begged the store keeper to let her take the food home. I believe she never forgave her mother for sending her to “beg”. I believed she vowed then, never to “beg” again.

It was that sort of memory that haunted her; that turned her green with envy. She would do whatever it would take to have what she wanted and in a way that she wanted. It didn’t work out for her that way.

She wanted to be a dancer, but didn’t have the feet. But she would find solace in dance and over the years would retreat to the dance hall and tea dances and club socials. She wanted beautiful clothes, but the finances were not there. Later in life should would spend her days, everyday, shopping.


As a young wife and mother, she also cared for her ailing grandfather and parents. She thought marriage would be all about her, but it wasn’t. Her husband adored her and worked hard to provide for her. It was never enough. . .because she could not make it all about her.

She was “Dolly”. She should have the attention.

The early years of poverty bred shame. Shame led to the jealousy. It is ever so hard to be happy whilst looking through a “green lens”. Self esteem is weakened with each comparison; with each want that isn’t met; when each attempt at perfection is challenged.

Dolly would have been 92 this year. I wish I could have helped her be happy. I still pray for her.