the first time I was called "ugly"

Here's the written story I told at Joe's Pub as part of Generation Women: Stories of Hope & Joy.

You can watch me perform this story here!

It’s a hot summer day in “Lawn Guyland”, NY and we are just weeks away from starting the sixth grade. I feel on top of the world at just eleven years old. I’m on my way to a pool party with my new friend, Janet, who’s one of the popular girls. I have taken every precaution to make sure I look my best today: I’ve flat ironed my curly hair to be pin straight like everyone else’s, I’ve put on eyeliner which took hours of practice, I’ve worn my cutest top from Hollister (the only top I own from Hollister). We show up to the house and all the other popular kids are already hanging in the backyard. It’s very chill, they do things like this all the time, but to me this is a big deal. 

I’m so lucky that my parents even let me go to this party. My Caribbean mother has a rule that I should only go out to one event each weekend, I have to stay home on the other two days while these popular kids hang out every single day of the week. I look down at the flowers on my Hollister shirt and decide I look cute as ever, smile to myself, then look back up. I meet the gaze of Leshawn Lewis: the only other non-white person there. He plays sports and I see him around school but never really thought he hung out with these kids like that. I realize he’s staring at me from across the yard. I haven’t had any experience with boys but in my mind, this could be the place where a summer romance starts. He could be falling in love with me in this very moment, wondering why he never noticed me before. At this point I had only been in the neighborhood for a few years and there were seven different elementary schools, so not everyone knew who I was yet.

Several minutes seem to go by. One by one, everyone picks up on the way Leshawn and I are both staring at each other, and they all start to go silent. I keep staring back at him… Is he gonna come over and kiss me or what?

Then, Leshawn finally opens his mouth from across the yard and says, “You are so fucking ugly.” 

Everyone laughs. Two girls come to my rescue, “Oh my god, Lesahwn that's so mean”. But I am also laughing because it simply makes no sense. I have never even considered that I can be such a thing. I have never been called ugly by anyone before. I have been brought up by strong, beautiful women who took every opportunity to uplift me and tell me how pretty I am. There was never a moment when I questioned if my family was calling me beautiful just because they’re my family… Until now. Everyone else moves on and I shake it off, watching everyone get into the pool but me, since I don’t want to wet my straightened hair.

Later that day when I’m back home, I start to wonder why Leshawn said what he said. He looks like me in the sense that we are both black. Did he think he was ugly too? What would it mean if I were actually ugly. “I don’t think he’d lie about it”, I thought to myself. I never did anything bad to him. These thoughts continue to swirl around in my mind long after I get back to my side of town.

Thus began my spiral down the rabbit hole of “who is considered the most beautiful woman in the world” and “what makes women beautiful”. When I went with my mom to the nail salon I became obsessed with flipping through all the beauty tips and plastic surgeries in the Cosmo magazines there. I was so happy to discover there were already so many creams, injectables and surgeries to cure my ugliness. There was only one issue: I had no money and I was way too young at 12 years old! Don’t worry, y’all, I wasn’t sad for long. My ugliness was something I just had to accept. My parents always stressed to me that I should never be vain or self-obsessed, and now they didn’t have to worry. There was no hope for me to be beautiful, so I decided I would do everything I could to be talented.

I went through middle and high school with tunnel vision. The only thing that mattered was my next performance, whether in the school musical or with the choir. I won several awards for my musical abilities. I began to see a life full of possibilities beyond my high school graduation, where I could leave my small town and expand my talents in a bigger pond.

I was happiest when I was in rehearsal or getting people to laugh at my silly impressions. I never really thought about dating or boys because, after all, I was ugly and that was that. Some people are just born that way and I was one of them. 

There was one person I was really going to miss once I left Long Island though. I had many different voice teachers throughout my middle and high school years, and now I was finally a junior. Some of my teachers were very old-school and scary but I knew it came with the territory. The last voice teacher I worked with, Ms Jackson, was one of the coolest, most beautiful and nicest teachers I’ve ever had. She lived one town over but I begged my parents to let me study with her for an annual singing competition even though she charged a bit more than my usual teacher. Since I was a rising senior, this was the last time I could be eligible to compete. 

I loved going to Ms. Jackson’s house and practicing at her big grand piano. She had two very friendly dogs and tons of awards all over her living room. She always greeted me with the biggest and brightest smile, and I had never felt so comfortable or safe to be myself around a vocal teacher.

After I received a perfect score in the music competition thanks to her help, Ms. Jackson and I had one last lesson to help me freshen up for another solo. I expressed to her in that lesson my concerns about graduating and having to choose a major. I was excited to graduate and finally leave this small town, but I was still scared. 

Ms. Jackson took a breath, smiled at me and said, “Well, Ash, whatever you do, you’re gonna be tremendous at it. Because your spirit expands for miles and miles. Everyone will love you the moment you enter a room.” 

These words have stuck with me forever. I felt an overwhelming sensation of joy and gratitude. How lucky was I to have such an amazing, kind woman to teach me? And how lucky was I to have her tell me what I didn’t know I always needed to hear? From the age of 12 to the age of 17, I battled with myself wanting to be less ugly, or to perform better or to win a silly music competition no one would remember in a few years. But the thing that felt the most rewarding was hearing that someone appreciated my soul, the core of my spirit! That is truly something that I feel no one can change. 

When we hugged goodbye at the end of our final lesson I was on top of the world. Ms Jackson didn’t have to say that, and she wouldn’t have lied about it. She didn’t owe me anything except vocal lessons, so I knew she was probably telling the truth. 

Much like Leshawn’s comment back in sixth grade, I took this observation Ms Jackson made of me and internalized it. Only this time I wasn’t searching for an explanation or a general theory on what makes souls beautiful. I was more than happy to have my soul be more beautiful than my face. As I’ve gone through this life, I’ve become aware that my passion and spirit are far more valuable than my looks. I’ve learned throughout the years that people will tell you things about yourself and you can simply choose to believe them or not. 12 year old Ash would’ve never believed it, but I find myself to be quite stunning now, both inside and out.