“Walk like a lady.” I can’t tell you how many times I heard these words over the early years of my life. Being the only granddaughter and the only niece on the maternal side of the family comes with heavy consequences. All the mothering instincts from certain females are directed toward you (meaning me).
“Walk like a lady.” I heard it from my mother who made sure I knew to smooth the back of my dress before I sat down and keep my legs together and my hands folded while sitting. I was her only daughter so all the girly things people gave her that were not her cup of tea were readily bestowed on me.
“Walk like a lady;” That’s what my grandmother said during my once a month sleep-over visits. “always walk with one foot in front of the other,” she’d say as we walked down the street together. She would make me practice by walking the line down the middle of the sidewalk. It came in hand when I was in my first fashion show at 9 years old.
“Walk like a lady,” my great-aunt reminded me sternly when I’d go to her house once a month to get my hair pressed and curled. My aunt, my grandmother’s sister, was all about poise, elegance, and dignity. In addition to being a hairdresser, in her younger years, she ran a charm school. Even though I was not one of her pupils, I WAS one of her pupils! I got all the lessons on how to walk, talk, sit stand, speak on the phone, proper etiquette at the table, and what to do at a high tea. “Everybody should know that!” This was the same aunt who had me balance a hardback book on my head while walking across the room in pumps. If the book didn’t fall, I was ready. That’s not all, the books got thicker as the heels got higher. My aunt believed in gracefulness. She hated to see women “trudging in elegant footwear.” “They look like unbalanced truckloads from the back! “Not my girls,” she’d say.
“Walk like a lady and hold your head up. Your dreams ain’t on the ground.” These words came from my mother’s sister, as the kids would say “on the regular.” To this day, I can still hear them echoing in my head, each time I put on an outfit tailor-made for me by this lady who knew how to turn a thrift store suit into something everybody wanted. Gifted hands, my aunt had those, and she taught me a few sewing tricks, too. Still, mostly I remember her saying I should always carry myself with dignity. She said no matter what decisions I make or what jobs I take, what road I travel or what deeds I do, I should always be able to face myself in the mirror and say, “I walked like a lady.”