She was a special girl. Everyone said so.
Her parents told her all the time how special she was, her grandparents, the neighbors. An adopted child she had heard it a million times at least. People also told her she was ugly. Her parents agreed. Her father called her George and told her she looked like a boy whenever her mother cut her hair short, which was often. Her skin was dry, her hands wrinkled like an old woman’s.
Wrinkled hands look very weird on a young child.
Her wrinkled hands were the first thing people noticed. People rarely commented on her very blond hair, pale skin or bright blue eyes. No, it was the wrinkled hands. What’s wrong with her skin people would ask? Over and over. So much so that she wished she had mittens or at least pockets that she could plunge her hands into. If no one could see her hands they might see something else. Maybe they’d actually see her. The real her.
Some children would even say they looked like alligators skin. They’d say her hands were like those plastic sandwich bags that kids carried their sandwiches to school in. Those bags were a constant reminder to her that she was different. Every time a commercial came on for those bags she would feel sad and want to cry. The Hefty brand with their stupid alligator was such as source of shame and sadness that she begged her mother to never buy Hefty brand bags. Sometimes her mother would forget and pack her bologna and cheese sandwich in one.
Lunch time at school would come and she would carefully open her lunchbox hoping against all hope that the bag would be smooth and not covered in the millions of wrinkles like her skin. On the unlucky days she would quickly glance around the lunch room to see if anyone else noticed; she feared someone would once again call her an alligator and e name calling would begin again. Her parents never seemed to care that she hated her hands and that it made her hate herself.
“Ignore it”, her parents would say while reminding her that she was special.
You’d think being special would be enough.
She never felt special, not with everyone telling her how ugly she was or pointing out her awful hands. Still people told her she was special. Some of her friends would say, “You’re so lucky!”
Lucky? No, she wasn’t lucky at all. It was hard to feel special and even harder to understand why you don’t feel that way.
Yet, here she was, a very lucky, very special, little girl.
You may wonder why she was so special.
Her parents said it was because her mother loved her so much. Much more than any other mothers she guessed. Her mother loved her SO MUCH that she gave her away to other people that couldn’t have children. How nice.
In her mind she didn’t think that sounded right.
Who would do that? Who gives something they really truly love away?
Thanks for reading this far… I missed a few days – life got in the way. I’m working on keeping on task. It’s part of the growth.
I appreciate you stopping by! Blessings to you dear reader.