The freckled ones among us will recognize those terms, often our from playground nicknames. Though many of my childhood heroes had them - "Anne of Green Gables", holla! - as a child I despised my freckles, which made me feel distinctive during those I-want-to-fit-in years.
Funny how those traits we may have disliked as children can become our signature look as adults, how we eventually see distinctive as a good thing. As I've grown older, I've gradually embraced the spots. Glad I have them - I do my makeup to highlight 'em, even. People seem to connect me to them, if usually with a highly original, never-been-heard-before "connecting the dots" joke. Even Hollywood seems to have generally caught on to our be-speckled sort.
[Lest you think I'm reached some zen place of maturity here, rest assured I'm remain bitter about my teeny-tiny eyes and (same adjective applies) bust. Thankfully that's nothing time & a little
Moving along - the freckles have taken on greater meaning for me as a parent, strangely enough, since I've given birth to the clone of the (relatively freckle-free) Anonymous Husband:
|Apologies for the repeat photo, but I never tire of looking at this one (Photo Credit: the freckle-free but still fabulous Ziem Photography)|
Along with that have come the inevitable comments, "Grand Master P looks just like the AH!" "He looks nothing like you, Melissa - better luck next time!" "He's all daddy!"
I'm delighted to have a physical duplicate of my very first & favorite husband, and yet . . . these comments get under my (freckled!) skin for some reason. For starters, having been present for Master P's birth, I'm quite certain I was involved in the process somewhere. Yet I find myself staring at Master P on occasion, searching him for some sign - aside from his temper, that is, which is all Mom - that we're related.
It's a silly, superficial thing - "silly" and "superficial" being house specialties here at the Pretty - wanting your child to show some outward signs of being related to you. I mean, adopted families get on just fine without that outward link, for obvious example. Of the many things to worry about as a parent, this is way, WAY far down the list, if it's on there at all.
That being said, I confess I've been delighted to see a few of these pop up lately (squint if you have to - I swear they're there):
While I wouldn't wish the tired freckle jokes on anyone, let alone my boy, I confess some silly part of me is thrilled to see this small visible link between us.
Soon I'll try to teach him how being distinctive is a good thing; he'll ignore me now just as I did my family, but some day it'll pay off in spots (spades?).
How have you dealt with comments from strangers like this? Any other freckle faces who can relate?
(With thanks to A Southern Accent, who recently wrote about her own darling freckle-faced boy here.)