by Mary Stack
Red is a provocative hot color.
Red lipstick suggests excitement, and I have always loved it glistening on the lips of movie stars or smeared on mirrors, but for a long time I didn't dare wear it.
Until I was 40, I didn't possess even a single red item in my wardrobe because it made me feel too self-conscious – like a "siren."
An old man had once called me this when I was 15 years old and I didn't know what it meant; when I discovered it was a sexual slur I was stung.
The pain of his insult stuck and thereafter I tried to avoid undue attention by wearing loosely fitted clothes, even though I had a shapely body, and steered well clear of red!
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Where the Lighthouse
If Only Children Did Not Grow Up
by Saralee Perel
For parents who watch their children grow and pass countless varieties of milestones, the sentiment is both bitter and sweet. One milestone is college.
In September, many children leave home for the first time. I can't fathom how parents go through this without falling apart. I'll never forget that powerful autumn when my favorite little girl went away to college. I fell to pieces.
She was an author who was under my wing as I helped her find her path in the world of writing. I'm finally admitting to myself that she never needed me in the first place. She thought she did. I thought she did.
I cherished my role as her mentor. I loved our back and forths about this word or that. Eventually our connection touched on more topics than just writing.
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