I used to hate my freckles. I have a face full of them, and as a young girl, I just wanted them to disappear. I looked at the flawless skin that graced the covers of magazines and longed for a clear complexion, free of spots.
My face was flawed.
My parents liked my freckles. My grandparents thought they were cute. I couldn't understand why anyone would like brown spots covering what would have been decent skin. And there was this one freckle on the side of my nose that I particularly despised. It was big... no HUGE, a monstrosity that just ruined my face. For some reason, though, every time I walked down the street to visit my grandparents, my PaPa Jack would make it a point to give me a kiss right on that giant freckle. He would make a big deal out of looking for that special freckle, the one that belonged to him, and when he finally found it, he would plant a kiss right on that huge flaw.
After a while, although I still wished it wasn't there, I didn't mind it quite so much.
I used to hate my freckles
...until I had kids of my own, and all of those years of wondering why my parents liked my freckles, why my grandparents thought freckles were cute, and why my grandpa loved that one particular freckle on my face finally made sense.
I adore these freckles...
These freckles are so cute...
And don't ask me how many times I've kissed that one freckle on the side of this little boy's cheek...
I love them because they are a part of these faces. They are like sprinkles on top of an ice cream sundae...they just make it a little sweeter.
My own freckles have faded over the years, and that one freckle, that monstrosity on the side of my nose is getting harder to see. But oh, how I hope it won't fade away. I never knew how much good could be wrapped in what I once considered a flaw. It was made special, and every time I see it, I smile.