Can harm be done by not telling a girl she is pretty?
Jen, in response to The “Pretty” Prison: the Dad of a Daughter Ponders the Weight of a Word:
I had the opposite problem. I don’t remember my father, or my mother for that matter, ever telling me that I was pretty. Not once. Not ever, even when I dressed up for my first dance or showed off the Ren Faire costume I’d worked on for weeks (I was a geek). Truth be told, I was a funny looking kid, but it would have been nice to think someone thought I was pretty. I grew up thinking I must be ugly, although looking back at my high school pictures from the perspective of middle age, I was a pretty girl — not the classic blond haired cheerleader type, but kind of an unusual, “raven-haired” type of beauty. I wish I’d known it.
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