At seventy-five, people often say you should embrace your “golden years,” take it easy, and “act your age.” But who exactly decides what that means? To me, it’s all about doing what makes you happy and feel alive. For me, that means wearing red lipstick. I’ve worn it for as long as I can remember; it’s fiery, bold, and unapologetic—the exact traits I’ve carried with me through my life. However, it seems like that’s no longer accepted, at least according to my son and his wife.
Yesterday, I was getting ready for a family meal, a gathering that didn’t promise to be like the usual ones I eagerly anticipated. As I carefully applied my favorite red lipstick shade, “Ruby Flame,” in my bedroom, my son Stephen suddenly barged in.
“Mom, you look like a desperate old clown trying to cling to youth,” he said, interrupting my thoughts. It wasn’t a joke, even though he smiled. The remarks were serious and stung deeply. I looked at him, hoping he’d realize how hurtful his words were, but he just stood there, waiting for me to remove the lipstick and, with it, a part of my identity. To make matters worse, his wife Sarah joined him, wearing a smug grin.
“Oh, I agree with Steph,” she chimed in. “Older women shouldn’t wear red lipstick. You should stick to what other people your age do.”
My heart raced, and my fury rose. Who was she to dictate what I should wear? What did she mean by “other people”? I’ve never followed the crowd, and I wasn’t going to start now.
“Honey, why don’t you mind your own business?” I said firmly. Her stunned reaction was priceless. She had no idea I would stand up for myself. “I’m sorry, Edith,” she stammered. “We just don’t want you looking like a clown.”
Think of the nerve! My gaze grew fierce, and my son looked confused between my stare and his wife’s uneasy laugh. His attempt to lighten the mood with “Okay, Mom, enjoy the circus,” left me even more furious. They left me standing alone, feeling hurt.
For about five minutes, I was deeply wounded. While staring at my reflection, I wondered if red lipstick was really too much for me. Should I conform to their idea of what a woman my age should look like? That sadness quickly transformed into anger. No, I wasn’t going to let them dictate my life. I was going to teach them a lasting lesson.
I stayed quiet for the next few days, not even mentioning the incident to my friends at our monthly bridge game. But inside, I was planning. They had hurt my pride, and I wasn’t going to let that slide.
The annual neighborhood block party was a week away, a perfect chance to make my point. It was a grand event with dressing up, a talent show, and even a small parade down the block. Over the next three days, I gathered everything I needed—materials from the craft store and an old outfit from my wardrobe. By the day of the block party, I was ready.
The sun was shining as I walked down the street towards the block party. I spotted Stephen and Sarah mingling with the neighbors, completely unaware of what was about to happen. As I approached, I had to suppress a grin.
“You made it, Mom!” Stephen shouted. But his eyes widened as he saw me. I was wearing a bright red dress that hugged my curves, a wide-brimmed red hat with a large feather, and dramatic makeup. I looked like a grand dame, demanding attention and unapologetic in my presence.
“Edith, what on earth are you wearing?” Sarah asked, her voice a mix of horror and confusion.
I smiled sweetly. “Oh, just a little project I put together. Thought I should embrace that ‘clown’ look you mentioned.” Stephen looked like he wanted to disappear. “Mom, this is…”
“Wonderful?” I finished for him. “Why, thank you, dear.”
The parade started before they could say more. I joined the other participants, and soon we were marching down the street to cheers and applause. I waved and blew kisses to the neighbors as I relished being the center of attention.
Throughout the parade, I saw Stephen and Sarah in the crowd, looking embarrassed and dismayed. They wanted me to blend into the background, but I took center stage. After the procession, I approached them near the punch bowl.
“You know,” I began, “I think you two could learn something valuable I discovered a long time ago.” They waited, curious. “Life is too short to live by anyone else’s rules. Whether it’s red lipstick or a red dress, I’ll do what makes me happy. If someone has a problem with that, it’s their problem, not mine.”
Stephen looked down, shuffling his feet. Sarah also looked visibly uncomfortable. Finally, he spoke, “Mom, we didn’t mean to hurt you. We just… didn’t think about how our words might affect you.”
I nodded, “Words matter. I know you meant no harm. It’s my job as your mother to remind you of that.”
There was a pause as my words sank in. Sarah was the first to speak. “Edith, you’re right. I apologize. I didn’t realize the importance of that lipstick to you.”
I softened and smiled, “It’s not just the lipstick. It’s about staying true to yourself, no matter what others think. You’ll understand that someday.”
Stephen hugged me. “Thanks, Mom. By the way, you looked amazing today.”
“Darn right, I did,” I replied with a wink.
The block party continued, and even after the initial shock of my bold arrival wore off, the lesson stayed. Stephen and Sarah became more reflective. I saw them thinking hard about what I had said.
As the sun set, I sat on a bench watching the kids play. Sarah and Stephen approached me again. “Mom,” Stephen began softly, “we’ve been talking. We’re sorry for making you feel like you had to change who you are.”
Sarah nodded, “We were too focused on our own views to consider your feelings. We’ve always admired your strength and confidence.”
Touched by their sincerity, I felt my heart warm. “Thank you,” I said. “It means the world.”
