The Female Body.
I am a woman. There is no denying that I have breasts, curves, and a female reproductive system. It’s a beautiful thing, really. How we all have the same body parts, but we’re all different. Different cup sizes, different heights, different proportions, different leg lengths, different thickness — the list goes on.
It’s beautiful. I love seeing a woman with full hips, as much as I love seeing a tall slender woman. I love curly hair, straight hair, short hair, long hair, you name it, I love it. The woman with bright color pants, the woman in her “I’m-just-grabbing-something-real-quick” outfit, and even the girl with the shorts that are a bit too short—I’m impressed.
We are beautiful. Every single one of us.
It’s odd to me that I’ve been thinking of this man since his passing. I know nothing about him. But for some reason, his death stung a little closer to home than it should.
I remember growing up with him, watching his movies with my family. The Genie (Alladin), Mrs. Doubtfire (Mrs. Doubtfire), Jack (Jack), Alan (The Final Cut)—He played all these characters differently, but managed to portray a little of himself in each one. He seemed like such a happy man, a man with many personalities.
I imagine him as being a dad, probably telling too many “dad jokes” like my dad does. I imagine him being a hopeful man, a giving man, a heartfelt man. Is the reason I feel this sadness is because I see so much of my dad in him? Why is it that I think of the family he left behind, and at the same time I think of how hurt I would be to see my dad gone?
Mr. Williams must have felt quite a struggle within.