Chapter Two
My father thought I was crazy having so many surgeries. It had even gotten to the point that I would sneak and have a friend take me. I wouldn’t tell my family about it because I was so embarrassed. They thought I was crazy already. My dad would say it after each surgery, “You’re sick, you’re out of your mind.” He was right, I was sick, although at the time neither of us knew how sick I really was. I couldn’t stop. That was very hard for me too, upsetting my father.
I said earlier that I felt guilty because I thought my brother wished he had a pretty sister; I felt the same way about my dad. I knew my parents loved me. I knew they would do anything for their children, but I don’t think that they thought I was pretty either. They never said I was pretty. Well, for school pictures and times like that when they had to say it, but you can tell when parents think their child is beautiful, and mine didn’t. But again, I did know they loved me, they did tell me that, often. They also complimented and encouraged all of my good qualities, like how smart I was, what a good athlete I was, so if they thought I was pretty they would have said it, right? That’s what I thought. Also, if I was fresh or talked back or something my mom would say, “Shut your ugly little mouth!”
One time in fifth grade, I think fifth—fifth or earlier—my mom and my aunt Olivia, Tiffany’s mom, were going to teach me how to wear make-up. I had asked them for their help. They ended up arguing about it! My aunt put the eyeliner outside on the bottom lid and my mom said, “What are you doing, put it on the inside! My aunt said, “No, when you put it on the outside it makes the eyes look so much bigger.” To which my mom replied sternly, “Her eyes are big enough!” So now, not only did I hate my nose, but I knew my mother thought my eyes were too big and both my mother and my aunt agreed that I needed to start wearing makeup at just ten years old!
I know, I sound like a shit, blaming my family for my ugliness, but I promise you I never did. I knew God had blessed me with parents who love their children and each other, unconditionally. I learned at a young age that was rare and have always been very thankful. I figured I just wasn’t born with the looks “card,” and I don’t think there is anything any one of them could have said or done to make me think differently about myself.
No, that’s not true! I’ll bet that if my brother ever heard my father say I looked pretty, even just one fucking time, he wouldn’t have been so cruel all those years!! I mean my brother wanted to be just like my dad, so even if my dad lied to me and said, “Look how pretty my little girl is!” or “You were the prettiest girl there!” my brother would have changed the way he felt about me, whether he believed it or not. I swear—if my father said that the sky was orange my brother would go around trying to convince people the sky was orange! That’s the influence my father’s opinion had on my brother.
I don’t know, maybe I’m being somewhat of a hypocrite. I have always said that those families of the people on American Idol were the worst. I always said they weren’t doing their children any favors by saying, “Oh you have such a beautiful voice!” and letting them find out on TV, in front of millions of people that they really suck! I think that was the reason that my dad didn’t try to convince me or my brother that I was beautiful. He knew how beautiful people were treated. He knew that beautiful people were treated just a little bit differently and was afraid if they convinced me at home that I was beautiful, I would be hurt when people in my adult life told me or treated me otherwise. You see, again, I knew the love was there; they were protecting me from being hurt. I just wanted so badly to be a “pretty girl.” Even though some people would tell me I was pretty, I never believed them. I figured they were family and friends just being nice because they had to. I guess that unless my father or brother told me I was pretty, I would never think so.
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Genre – Biographies & Memoirs / Self-Help
Rating – R
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