I’m not a particularly striking person. I have a long mass of curly brown hair, green hazel eyes, pale skin, and not to mention short and stocky.
I love my curls. I don’t see many people out there with naturally curly hair and when I do I feel like I found a kindred spirit! Sure, I’ve been asked if my hair is real(and it is) but that doesn’t happen much any more. Out of my parent’s kids I am the only one who was a curly haired person. I remember growing up and hearing people compare my hairy to Shirley Temple, which made my day because I adored her. My mother has curly hair, but she straightens it nearly every day. My eldest niece has curly hair and has had my older sister straighten it for her, but when I see that mop of curly dirty blonde hair I compliment her. I let her know that curly hair is awesome and that she should embrace it every so often. And when my youngest nice, my little Onna, has natural waves in her hair I tell her how cute it is. We are unique in our family. Hair that is something other than stick straight thanks to flat irons and some strange abhorrence of curls.
The color of my hair is interesting. Near the roots it is a deep chocolate color and grows lighter the further down you go. It’s a strange, natural occurrence that seems more obvious in summer. And with summer and fall I notice that the sun has brought in caramel tones into the mass of curls. I notice it, when my hair falls into my face. Grendal notices it, in car rides during sunsets when the sun is nearly blinding me but highlighting it all.
My eyes are hazel, not brown. No matter what my ID says and always has says. From a distance you see the brown but come closer and you can see the green that laces it’s way through it. They seem greener in certain light or with certain emotions. My older sister never noticed how green they were until a Halloween photo popped up on facebook. My eyes have always been like that. Not the deep brown of her eyes or my parents. And my younger sister, unique in her way with a gray-yellow hazel. In a family of brown eyed people we’ve wondered how our eyes came to be.
I am pale. Paler than pale it seems. My sisters tan like it’s second nature but I burn, turn into a lobster and when I shed my skin I am as pale as ever. I was teased by my older sister. I didn’t want to tan, didn’t want to sit out and bake. The thought of skin cancer riddled my mind whenever I saw her dark skin after her shifts as a lifeguard. My father told me, when I was little, that I shouldn’t worry about being tan; royal families had pale skin, you could see some veins in their arms which is why they were called ‘blue bloods.’ I took that to heart. My father, in a strange way, held me up with princesses and queens. I don’t worry about my pale skin, not any more, and now my older sister boasts about her own pale skin.
I’m a hobbit. I am short. I am a dwarf! I am short and stocky. My friends and family have all heard me say that I shouldn’t be allowed to wear anything with spaghetti straps because I look like a line back(thank you wide shoulders). My sister and father are tall and slender. My mother and her family are stocky and/or short. One of the traits I inherited from her blood. Yes, I need help getting something off the top shelf. No, I didn’t see that because it was pushed too far back on a shelf over my head. I have learned to climb like a monkey, to construct step ladders out of simple things, to jump and hope I don’t knock that item off the shelf and break it, or have it land on my head. My friends tower over me but scoop me up into big hugs whenever we part, finding it fun that they can lift me with ease. I am pocket portable and bite sized. I can squeeze into small places and take up little room in the car. People find it cute when I burst with joy, what’s better than a chipper short woman? And what is worse than a short woman bursting with anger ‘too big’ for her size?
I’m not particularly striking, not just passing by but if you stop and take a look at what I am, I am amazing.