Many years ago, but not so far away, there was a sparkling bright-eyed teenager named Tricia.
Now Tricia had all the makings of a princess – social butterfly, stylish, talented. The kind of princess who could hold court with the learned and wise, the young and the old, the rich and the poor. Now, how did I know that? For one thing she was a nominee (or something of that sort) for Miss Oklahoma. I really don’t know all that much about it. But I knew what my eyes could see and what my ears could see. She was beautiful and she could sing.
However, I also saw something that went far beyond that. Although she could have been the leader of any clique, maybe she was; I don’t know that either. But she definitely was not “clique-ish.”
At this point, let me tell you about another character. He was another member of the young crowd in our church. At least he was in that age range. He was not impressive; nothing wrong with him, but just not impressive. Now a lot of guys are like that, at least they think they are. But this young man just didn’t fit it. As the groups would get together to go out after church, he didn’t go. My heart just sort of hurt for him. You probably think I’m going to say that Tricia was the princess who kissed the frog and he became her prince. No. It wasn’t that. But I did see Tricia take time to give him special attention on more than one occasion. Sat on the pew and chatted a bit. Smiled. Prayed. Just little things. I’ve never forgotten.
I saw Tricia last month after more than forty years. I hugged her and told her this story and how it had been my memory of her from that long time ago.
I asked if I could use her picture and relate this tiny insight into what makes a princess, a Princess. That makes a sweet and humble girl a Miss America in my eyes.
Tricia, I know you made that young man feel pretty special, because you made me feel pretty special, too. Thanks for the hugs. Thanks for the smile. Thanks for letting me tell this bit of your story.
Thanks for being a Princess.