I have a problem with the word ugly. 

I don’t like to use the word to describe a person nor do I appreciate someone else using the word to describe someone in my presence.  I don’t let my daughter use the word ugly.  If my partner uses the word ugly in front of my daughter, I will quickly interject that ‘ugly’ is not a nice word.

If I do use the word ugly, it is solely to describe an emotion.  My mom and I both say, “It felt super ugly.” Or, I may use the word to describe objects, such as fabric or noise or the weather. 

My aversion to the word stems from two incidents in my life.

 At the age of fourteen, I remember spending an evening at my aunt’s house next door.  I’m not sure why we all convened there, as we were not in the habit of doing so, but it was probably a holiday or someone’s birthday.  My father had been drinking that night and had by the evening’s end become very liberal with his words.      

I am not sure how or why the topic of conversation turned to me.  Being a shy and quiet girl in front of those who are not in my immediate family, all I could do was stare away as my aunt mentioned that I was a very good girl.  My dad chimed in that I was, indeed, a good girl and a smart one too, but then he said something that numbed me.  He said, “Esta un poco feita, pero she’s nice”.  (Translated: She’s a little ugly, but she’s nice (In Laredo, Texas, we code switch all the time))

I felt my face turn red.  He was drunk mind you, but I took it to be the truth.  I came to the realization that my father, the most important male figure in my life, thinks that I am ugly.  His own blood, his own kin, and he thinks I am aesthetically unpleasant.   

I didn’t say a thing.  My aunt just looked at me with pity eyes and said, “No, no digas eso Jorge. No es verdad”.  (Translated: No, don’t say that George. It’s not true.”)

It was a very uncomfortable moment.  What do you do when you’re told your ugly in front of others and you believe it to be true.  I had nothing to argue against.  I knew I was not pretty.  I knew I had bad skin and kinky hair.  My body was formless. I was weird.  I dressed like a frantic hippie and was not very popular in school.  Yes, boys had taken an interest in me at that point.  My freshman year in high school, I had never had so many boys come out of the woods to try and talk to me.  Me, being the good girl that I was however, did not take a real interest in them back.  Only one, but that’s another story.

The second incident took place when I was a Junior in high school, in one of the worst places you would ever want to have an ‘incident’ in, my Spanish 1 classroom.

By the time I was a Junior I was full fledged weird.  If I was weird my freshmen year, I was even weirder as a junior.  I had friends, but inside classrooms where I didn’t know anyone, I did not attempt to make new friends, so I was overly quiet and shy.  Usually, I sat in the back corner and did my work. 

In this particular Spanish class, Mrs. Martinez sat us according to our last names.  I ended up in the very front, very middle of the class. I hated it, but I still managed to go on overlooked.

One day, we had a new student in our class.

Her name was Erica, like me.   A name is the only thing we had in common.  She was light-skinned, blonde, and very feminine.  Did I mention gorgeous? Yes, gorgeous.  I think she would later go on to do local modeling.  I was her complete opposite.  If we were enemies, which we weren’t, we would have been each other’s nemesis. 

A few weeks after she arrived, one of the class idiots named Hector was reprimanded by the teacher for cheating and was told to sit in back of Erica.

“Which one,” he asked aloud, like those loud boys were wont to do, “the hot one or the ugly one?”

The classroom was silent.

I’m not sure, as I did not have the gall to turn around and check but I could feel everyone’s eyes piercing the back of my head.  

I had my head lowered before the comment, and after it, I put my head down even further.  I just sank into myself. 

I was too shy to lash out and say something hurtful back.  He had a uni brow, he was overly hairy, he was dumb, but I could say nothing.  I just sat there, making the moment uncomfortable for everyone.

 The only one who came to my rescue (sort of) was Mrs. Martinez.  She broke the silence by saying “They are both pretty. Now be quiet and take your seat behind that Erica.” (The hot one. He was more than happy to.) 

I’ve always disliked that guy for making me feel that way, especially in front of my peers.  But, I’ve disliked myself even more for not having any courage.  For letting some idiot call me ugly and make me feel as if I was.  I let some dumb kid make a definitive statement about me, and I never challenged it.  

The other Erica was very nice to me the rest of the year.  But how I wish that she had never walked into that classroom. 

I have since come to terms with …the term.

Although the Spanish class incident was more embarrassing and impacted me in a more publicly vulnerable way, I still to this day, look for clues from my father that support his drunken statement of fourteen years ago.