Wow. You probably weren’t planning to see THAT this morning. But here it is – a page out of my long-repressed history.
I have an uncle – a really wonderful one – who is an historian. (He’d have me put the “an” in there, I bet. So I did.) He is a pro family history guy. And he sent me the remarkable photo you see before you. And I swore. (Not like that.) I mean, I promised. That I will never, never tease a kid about her glasses (can you see the fine, fine rose decal in the corner? I remember pondering over the merits of rose vs. ladybug in the eye doctor’s sitting room, but somehow I never pondered the ill-advised glasses frames). And I will lay off my Kids about their hair issues, because, honestly? Has any Kid in my house ever had hair issues like these? I think not. The clip? I made that with my mom. I remember her patience in teaching me to weave that skinny ribbon through the bendy clip (the only kind that would stay in the aforementioned skinny hair). There were matching plastic beads on the ends of those ribbons. They made clicking sounds every time (Every Time) I tossed my head. Those teeth somehow pulled through, and I never needed orthodontia (blessing, that). And can you see my birthmark? It’s much harder to see these days. In the photo, it’s on the right side of my neck, kind of below that adorable cheek curl (because I can admit, those were some great smile lines and perfect, sweet cheeks). The birthmark that seriously marked me, in physical and emotional ways. Because, hey! Look! It’s a HICKEY!
Which of course it was not.
Ever.
But it didn’t stop people from double-taking. I remember being a small person, 7 years old (I only remember that detail because I know I was in D’Agostino’s deli in my Boston neighborhood, and I only lived there for that second grade year) and having a woman stare, leaning over to make sure she was really seeing a little girl with a great big hickey on her neck. I smiled at her. She looked horrified.
I dealt with it.
And everyone wore turtlenecks in the 80s.
It became a different story in high school. T. D. who was a senior when I was a freshman, called me Hickey Woman (which was a combination of thrilling and embarrassing, since he bore a passing resemblance to Tom Cruise, and was the star of the football team, and noticed my existence enough to use the word “woman” to describe me… but also, “hickey”). Then, a few years later, in a different state but still in the world of high school, I was sort of dating R. We had fun. He was hilarious and carefree and charming and had a whole houseful of adorable younger brothers that looked just like him. Then I met his mom. She took one look at my neck and decided that I was a WOB* who was corrupting her son, and he’d better get out of this thing if he wanted a roof over his head and access to the thrashed black VW Bug. To defend both his honor and mine, I feel compelled to tell you that R. never even kissed me, much less… well, anything else. And our dating thing didn’t last many more days (but we’re still Christmas-card friends).
The birthmark continues to fade. Most people can’t even see it. (They’re distracted by my stunning, straight teeth. I know it.) But strangely, I still feel like the birth-marked girl. It’s become part of my identity and that is just weird. Because it’s not really physically there anymore. At least to the casual observer. I’m sure there’s a deep insight floating here, something that ties this post into building a character in a novel. But I’m not interested in depth today. Just interested in strolling down memory (amnesia) lane with the rest of the photos I received from the Historian Uncle.
And possibly doing my hair.
* WOB = Whore of Babylon. I know. It’s another Brother Thing.
(16) Comments for this blog
Someday I’ll have to dig up that WOB poem again. College chicks!!??
Someday I’ll have to dig up that WOB poem again. College chicks!!??
I’ve just reliving my past ‘short’ brand, through my poor little E…who gets teased about her height AND the fact that she can out-read and out-imagine any kid I know. (But, I keep reminding her, that at least she doesn’t have the last name of ‘Stubbs’ on top of the shortness to deal with…which I consider a blessing for her!)
I’ve just reliving my past ‘short’ brand, through my poor little E…who gets teased about her height AND the fact that she can out-read and out-imagine any kid I know. (But, I keep reminding her, that at least she doesn’t have the last name of ‘Stubbs’ on top of the shortness to deal with…which I consider a blessing for her!)
Oh wow…as if high school isn’t hard enough!
What a fascinating stroll down memory lane. Loved it!
Oh wow…as if high school isn’t hard enough!
What a fascinating stroll down memory lane. Loved it!
He he, you crack me up! Cute photo, Becca. And I have never noticed your hickey, so it must have faded nicely. And the fact that you never had orthodontia surprised me – you have lovely teeth!
He he, you crack me up! Cute photo, Becca. And I have never noticed your hickey, so it must have faded nicely. And the fact that you never had orthodontia surprised me – you have lovely teeth!
I’ve known a few WOBs. You couldn’t be any more diametrically opposed if you tried. Now show that hickey with pride! Let’s get together and make some braided ribbon clips some time. And an octopus made out of yarn, on which to stick our clips when they’re not in our hair.
I’ve known a few WOBs. You couldn’t be any more diametrically opposed if you tried. Now show that hickey with pride! Let’s get together and make some braided ribbon clips some time. And an octopus made out of yarn, on which to stick our clips when they’re not in our hair.
I am so, so sorry, Hickey Woman. HAHAHAHAHA. Good writing material, Becca. Can’t wait to see it in a story.
I am so, so sorry, Hickey Woman. HAHAHAHAHA. Good writing material, Becca. Can’t wait to see it in a story.
This reminds me of the two years I wore shorts and knee socks every day except Sunday because I had hairy legs but my mom said I was too young to shave them. Good bye, 4th and 5th grade. I don’t miss you.
This reminds me of the two years I wore shorts and knee socks every day except Sunday because I had hairy legs but my mom said I was too young to shave them. Good bye, 4th and 5th grade. I don’t miss you.
You were a beautiful little girl! I laughed at the WOB thing but my heart hurt a little at the “birthmark girl” because I think we all have our marks that follow us. (Mine is a bald spot. Sigh.)
You were a beautiful little girl! I laughed at the WOB thing but my heart hurt a little at the “birthmark girl” because I think we all have our marks that follow us. (Mine is a bald spot. Sigh.)