She glances down at them and knows she can’t use them for the yearbook. They’re horrible, hideous even. How can she possibly be so ugly?
I’m sure you’re thinking about how superficial I must be to be bragging about my kids’ popularity. I mean, what kind of mother takes pen to paper to let the world know everyone loves her offspring?
Let me take you back to a time about 20 years ago, when I was a little girl of about 12 years old, and maybe then you’ll understand.
It’s picture day in eighth grade. A girl walks into her classroom and tries to smile. All her classmates look beautiful. Their hair is done and their uniforms crisp. Some are wearing a little lip gloss, some are sporting a new hair accessory.
The moment she steps into the room, she feels discomfited. Her hair is frizzy, even though she showered right before school, and put in just about a whole bottle of gel. Her face is red and puffy from acne. She’s chubby and her clothes aren’t cool. She has two friends in the entire grade. They both come from strange families and are interesting characters, but they’re all she’s got, and beggars certainly can’t be choosers.
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