Moles

I really like my esthetician, Isabel. She is from Colombia, she is kind and gracious, and her eyes seem lit with joy every time I see her. 

But Isabel does not like my moles. I prefer to call them beauty marks. She prefers to call them unnecessary. She wants them off my face. She says they’re not needed. All it will take is a simple procedure to remove the 16 or so moles. It will also take just $150, which I’m not in a hurry to pay. This isn’t a necessity people! It’s more of an option. I like options.

Options give you time to consider an array of opportunities. And as I’ve considered removing my beauty marks, I realize I actually don’t want to. Each one of my marks reminds me of my mother Gloria. She has very similar beauty moles on her face, closest to her high cheekbones. I got the same cheekbones too. I love my mama. And looking like her makes me feel good.

Getting rid of my beauty marks would mean, in a small way, letting go of something that connects me to my mama. I don’t want to do that. I won’t do that. Isabel may or may not understand my decision to not do the mole removal procedure. But I love my moles. I love them and they’re mine.

If you are always trying to be normal, you will never know how amazing you can be.”                                   – Maya Angelou

Grandmama Memories

My 11 year-old eyes stayed locked on her standing at the top of the porch of her Eatonton home in the Georgia country, as my mom backed down the gravel driveway.

The car shifted gears, moving away as my grandma Lena and me waved and blew kisses back and forth, saying and smiling goodbyes until we both could no longer see each other.

This was something we always did when I left her, a special tradition between us.

Another memorable southern summer full of red clay roads, ice milk and Big Red chewing gum came to an end. It was time for fall, time for school, and time to say goodbye to Lena Mae, at least until the holidays came ’round and I could get back to her…

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