As I look in the mirror this morning, it strikes me that I’ve been gifted with one face. It’s an interesting face. Recently, my one face has started to look a lot like my mother’s face. That is as it should be. My one face has been called:
My one face has been:
Once, a young man looked at me across from him on the train and exclaimed to his friends, “That’s a dude, man. That’s a dude.” This surprised me and then it made me nervous. Were they going to challenge me, whip my ass because they thought I was a cross-dressing man? (I mean I know I have big feet and hands and a slight mustache that in those days I didn’t wax, but a man? This body that had birthed two children?)
My one face has felt:
My one face has seen some things that were amazingly beautiful and amazingly terrible. There were times when this face wished it were another face that seemed to have more going for it. (I don’t hardly ever feel this way any more.) Sometimes this face has been the right face at the right time and other times it’s been passed over with barely a glance.
I am pretty happy with this face. I think I’ll keep it!
Happy Birthday, to me. And many more.