If you’ve read one of my posts entitled, “Embrace Yourself,” you’ll know that I didn’t like being a ginger growing up. I wanted jet black hair, dark brown eyes, and olive skin. In addition, there were many other features I didn’t like about myself. After all these years, I’ve finally learned to accept myself for what I've been given.
When I was a small child, I had such a great zest for life! I was a happy little girl (except for when I mad, which seemed to be quite often). Even though I didn’t like my coloring as a small child, I don’t remember being self-conscious about my smile…
...until second grade.
I’d lost some of my baby teeth, and my big-girl teeth were growing in. My upper-right central incisor (top-right front tooth) was already in, while my left one was halfway in.
It was picture day at my school, and I was wearing a rust-colored dress to complement the freckles and the pixie-cut red hair I never cared for.
As I sat down in the chair to get my picture taken, I thought to myself with my seven-year-old logic (or illogic), “I want to look like a big sixth grader, so I’m going to smile big!”
So I flashed my big, toothy, gummy, and gapped grin waiting for the photographer to capture my picture. Apparently, he didn’t like my smile and tried to coax me into making it smaller. “Don’t smile so big,” he said, “Not so big. Not so…” When he finally realized I wasn’t about to budge, he sighed and snapped my picture. I was happy!
Like most everyone else, I anxiously awaited the day when we all received our picture package to take home to our parents. It included one 8x10, two 5x7s, a few 4x6s, plus all the little ones we got to share with our friends. With much anticipation, I opened my package…
…and was devastated!
I hated my picture! My smile was way too big! My big-girl teeth didn’t fit my tiny head. Now I understand why the photographer kept saying, “Not too big.” I cried all the way home. No amount of consoling comforted me. I wanted retakes!
But I didn’t get them. I was stuck with the picture (at right) and my embarrassingly huge smile. So much for pretending to be a sixth grader. Well! Next year, I’ll do better!
There were so many features I disliked about myself — my hair, my skin, my mouth, my smile, my teeth, my scarred forehead, and my little pink nose when it’s had a little too much sun. Don’t get me started on my body.
Growing up, I altered my smile to make it look smaller. I admired classmates who had small lips and teeth with reserved, closed-mouth grins. I wanted to smile like them.
As I grew older, I noticed something when I looked at celebrities with unapologetically big smiles. One in particular had a beautiful smile and gorgeous teeth who always smiled big for the camera.
Her name was Farrah Fawcett. (I took a picture of a picture at left.) Her vibrant personality shined through her straight, pearly whites, even as she aged into her fifties. I loved her pretty green eyes. I always looked her and thought, “Wow! She's so glamorous! She has such a beautiful smile!” Then I thought, “Hey! If she can smile big, then why can’t I?”
In the same way I had to accept the red hair, blue eyes, and pale skin, I had to embrace my big smile, which changed as I grew older. My gums no longer showed, and my teeth were naturally straight (pretty much), so that helped a lot. (My dentist likes my teeth, too.)
I was in my early twenties when I actually started liking my smile. I finally just *sigh* let it be -- big and toothy. I learned to smile, really smile, not just for the camera, but in real life as well. But that would be many camera flashes later. Until then, I reshaped my smile for just about every school picture.
After my second-grade-picture fiasco, the following year, I was a big third-grader! Both of my big-girl front teeth grew in, but my lateral incisors (the teeth next door to my two front teeth) hadn’t come in yet, so there were still gaps, typical of eight- and nine-year olds.
It was picture day again, and I knew better than to repeat last year’s disaster, so I made sure not to smile big this time. Aside from my hair sticking out on the left side, I thought my third-grade picture (at right) was pretty good. I was actually pleased with my somewhat reserved smile.
Except! Except!
It revealed my pesky scars on my forehead that nobody can see! Last year’s bangs* covered them up. I’d grown them out and my hair was pulled back for this picture. Gah!
*Sigh* Maybe someday I’ll learn to love my scars, too, because, after all, there are stories behind those, too.
As Mr. Roarke from Fantasy Island used to say, “Smiles, everyone, smiles!” So start smiling, everybody. Gimme what ya got!