As far back as I can remember, my mother referred to me as “poor little thing” as though it were my first, middle and last name. “Poor little thing, she has such a long horsey face,” or “poor little thing, her glasses look like Coke bottles.” It’s not surprising I grew up wishing I looked like Sandra Dee, the 60’s, blonde beach babe with the perfect features.
Continue ReadingBut as I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to understand the truly magnificent faces are often the ones that are imperfect.