More Wearers of the Laurel

      A little while ago I made a row of little chaps (masculine chaps), the future "great," in all stages of wear and tear, lovable, and beloved I know, freckled and smooth and rough and clear (all good stuff, and to a woman's heart, cuddleable!) So come along a letter, a very dear letter, from a woman person, and says she: "Please, are there no little women-children who will one day be great also? You know better, so please don't leave them out."
      So here they are---woman's, woman! All in a row for you. And surely there are great among them. These little chaps (feminine). Little girls are dainty--so I cannot show you the grubby knees of them, the scratches and mars and bruises, the poverty, as I could on the little boys. But it's there most surely!
      Who could believe that crop-headed, boyish Sara, with the squint and the Teddy-bear, will discover more magic in the scientific world some day--something that will set the world by the two pricked ears! Barbara, with the steadfast gray eyes and the "er-plain face," who speaks at the Explorers club on the far places she has gypsied through, was once this little beauty with the pale brown curls, the blue baby-ribbon wound in them, and the frothy dress. Then she was a professional beauty! Julie, with the stockings that were knit to last, the old-fashioned apron, and the hair ribbon faded and glossed with the washings and ironings that have been its lof--Julia, with the gallent little smile--any one might dream here is a great comedienne! Cissy, with the boyish hair and socks, scuffed shoes and ravaged knees, all boy save her heart--becomes a great mother. And there are famous mothers--many.
      The mother of a great suffragette and orator, a woman with a silver tongue and voice of gold, brings out her baby picture. And lo! It's a bit of a girl with a blue slip, soft hands, soft face and demure, long soft, brown curls! Just a baby girl named Dorothy Jane!
      Here is Joan. Fat and smiling, dimpled and golden, clutching a flower with all her soul. A "snap"--the sun in her eyes and her hair ablow. The material in her slip is cheap and not new. But the light in her eyes is rich and alive to sound. And one day you will pay joyously your five or ten or twenty round dollars to hear her sing! And you will sit wrapped in a magic cloak, drowned in the diamond stream of her voice. And your eyes will ache with tears and your heart beat glad and sad. Just the same Joan wore blue-print and did it not cost very much!
      And Mary, the dreamer, with the slow, soft eyes and always the best love for her violet frock, the little girl with a lonely way with her, who saw the sunset in the heaven before she did the toy at her feet--a little chaser of hoops and obscure fancies--perhaps she'll paint and write and give great dreams to the world from the head under her thatch of fine dark hair. Who knows!
     Look into the eyes and heart of your little daughter--and wonder and reverence and be afraid. For something looks back at you of greatness and splendor! And if you will search and help--you may sense the dim glost-glow of Fame's halo 'bove her hair. by Nell Brinkley     

Music video by Jon McLaughlin performing Beautiful Disaster. (C) 2007 The Island Def Jam Music Group