When I was in school everyone made fun of my nose. My husband loves my nose he says it gives me character.

When I was a child, I had bright red hair that I hated because I was teased about it all the time. I can remember praying every night for black hair because I thought it was pretty. I remember thinking as soon as I was old enough,I would dye it a “normal” color. Well, once I entered high school, the teasing stopped for the most part and I would get compliments on my hair. It wasn’t until I started dating that I felt the color of my hair was an asset instead of something to feel awkward about. As a matter of fact, my husband of 29 years said my hair attracted him because it was different.I never did dye my hair until I decided to cover the grey and I realized that I wanted to keep it as close to my natural color as possible.

I have a physical characteristic that sets me apart. I will never learn to love it. It causes me great physical pain.

I was never terribly thrilled with the way I looked until I went to Italy when I was 23. The first thing I did was dump my American clothes and splurge on Italian things. I discovered that I loved the way I looked in those clothes (and so did the Romans). Ever since that day I have overlooked what little things don’t seem quite right and just have gone for the total look. I feel good about the way I look most of the time (everyone has an off day) and the little things no longer bother me. No one really looks that closely. They’re all worried about their problem areas. Anyway, one little feature should never get to you. I am not my eyes (very small) or my nose (I got my dad’s) or my hips (not too curvy) but how I feel, because that’s what comes through and that’s what people see and what I see when I look in the mirror.

I was five foot nine at the age of eleven. I weighed one hundred pounds. Things I heard through school…”Bean Pole”, “Twig”, “Stretch”, my Father always taught me to be proud of my height…he was six foot five…but it was hard…our housekeeper used to “poke” me between the shoulder blades if she caught me slouching…Thank Goodness for that! I never grew another inch, but today (gained a few pounds…but…curves to go with them!) I am very proud of my “tall girl” status…oh, and I LOVE my very short, VERY RED hair!

In high school I was 5’8” tall and didn’t weigh 100 pounds even if I was soaking wet. I was called “bean pole” and “olive oyl”, but the one that hurt the most was my uncle calling me “chicken legs”. Then one day in my early twenties I was waiting for a bus and an elderly man and woman approached me to tell me that I had beautiful legs just like Marlene Dietrich. I felt like a million bucks and I never looked at being thin the same way again! PS These days I’d love for someone to call me olive oyl.

My nose. I have the weirdest nose that is slightly “diagonal” from a car accident with a brain injury, …I don’t know why, but most men I date love my nose. Go figure! I would think my eyes or elsewheres….:O)

I weigh over 300 lbs. I will never love my fat or the people who treat me as a subhuman for it.

well, okay, now i’ve heard quite a variety, i will come clean. at some point in my life, i have disliked nearly every feature of mine, from too short and too skinny to big toothy smile, to the chipmunk cheeks with giant dimples (remember the skinny mention? i was a twig with cheeks), to the “knock knee’d” twist of my right leg that makes me limp, to virtually every facial feature. this is what the media (and critical mothers) can do to us. thank goodness, i am so over it. and i love me FOR all my cockeyed qualities. they are what make me me. with all that mentioned, I also used to be mistaken for just about anyone else someone knew, and many “you look just like my little sister” comments were thrown my way in my youth. so now i appreciate what makes me an individual. and if it were completely up to me, i would let my premature grey frizz fly. however, hubby likes me blonde, so i keep him happy with that, while he keeps clean-shaven, most of the time, for me.

I spent a lot of my life disliking my parts, my gap in my front teeth, my too small breasts, my too big tummy and hips. Most of all I hated the part of me that got raped. Well, I like all of the stuff now (but I would fix the gap in my teeth if I could :-). It is all me, all unique and all good.

I’m not sure I love them as I’ve always wished they were long and lean.. but my calves. Seriously… my calves have stopped strangers in their paths. But my best friend and I crack up over this story… she and I both worked with juvenile offenders at the time. she worked in a parole office a few miles from the court house where I worked as a probation officer. It was not uncommon for kids to have no idea who their probation/parole officer was. Paying attention not being their strong suit at that age. One day she had a kid bring a friend in with him. the friend told her he needed to see his probation officer but couldn’t remember her name but he could remember (drum roll here) that she had “really big calves” LOL! One time another kid in juvenile detention called up the staff and asked if they’d call his probation officer. Yep you got it… couldn’t remember my name… but remembered I had “really big calves”. Another time I’m walking down the street in Cabo San Lucas and a young mexican guy steps out of a building to stop me and tell me I had great calves. Hilarious… I don’t know if that would still happen as I almost never wear dresses anymore. or shorts. since i live in a part of the country that rains for 7 months a year.