My hometown, La Porte, is nestled between Houston and Galveston on the Texas Gulf Coast. It stands like a proud centurion guarding the entrance to a global economic engine called the Houston Ship Channel. When we were kids, a typical afternoon for family pleasure was to jump in the car and ride down the street to Sylvan Beach Park to observe massive ships delivering goods to the Port of Houston, displaying flags from around the world. On the national stage, conflict was emerging over equal rights (race and gender) and the long-anticipated debate over segregation. (Our high school wasn’t integrated until my senior year.). Television was still in its infancy. No one could yet imagine the global connectivity of the internet or cell phones in our lifetime! 

La Porte was a close-knit community where people lived by the concept “It takes a village to raise a child.” We all knew each other, so if you even conjured up mischief, your folks usually found out about it before you could pull it off!  Our childhood was like growing up in a warm, fuzzy cocoon.

Sylvan Beach Park was the gathering place for family picnics and fishing or crabbing off the local pier. Our most anticipated annual event was Sylvan Beach Day, which kicked off each spring with a downtown parade, fancy floats, local bands, civic groups, clowns, mounted horses, carnival rides, and last, but not least, beauty queen contestants riding atop snazzy convertibles smiling and waving to the crowds lined up along the parade route. Local businesses would select and sponsor their choice beauty queen contestant, which provided them a great marketing opportunity when the local newspaper published photos and stories of all the girls prior to Sylvan Beach Day, as well as after the event, with a feature article highlighting the contest winner and runners-up. 

As a kid, oh how I longed to be one of those contestants! I absolutely thought it’d be ‘the cat’s meow’, but alas, I was never chosen to compete. At the time, I recall feeling like ‘The Ugly Duckling” from the classic children’s story, secretly internalizing that I simply “wasn’t enough” – not pretty enough; not smart enough, not….?  I look back today and wonder why I placed such high value on participation in this contest? What I didn’t understand is there’s a distinct difference between success and significance. I had no clue if competing in a beauty contest could contribute to a life of significance in which each day, with intention, we have an opportunity to choose to make a positive difference in the lives of others. What can be better than that? Why are we so hard on ourselves?

What youthful memories do you recall when you felt you didn't measure up? Do you still harbor similar thoughts, or have you developed a larger perspective? I welcome your thoughts.