6/27/2023 0 Comments At Face Value by Emily Franklin![]() ![]() The thing that will become my defining characteristic has not taken over, has not dominated my world. In toddler pictures, my hair is so blonde it’s white, and you still can’t tell. Mom always told me I’d be statuesque, too, but I’m totally average at five foot five. He’s tall, six feet seven inches, the kind of tall that always elicits stares. Mom and Dad are in the background-you can just see Mom’s ugly-duckling slippers (um, foreshadowing, anyone?) and one of Dad’s enormous hands. I still look cute, proportional in my green and yellow striped footie pajamas. But do you ever really completely get past your big butt, your ears that stick way out, your. You’d think that as a senior at Weston High I’d finally be over it-and maybe I am, kind of. ![]() ![]() Everyone has something even if they won’t admit it, something about their physical being that bothers them. Or your coarse hair won’t gather a lustrous sheen no matter how much conditioner and pomade you slather on it. Or maybe your eyes are lopsided, just enough for you-and Steven Minsker in ninth grade-to notice. ![]() MAYBE IT’S YOUR HIPS, how they never seem to fit into those jeans the way you wish they would. ![]()
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