On Saturday I was insulted–albeit innocently and unintentionally–by a seven-year-old.
We were gathered at a friend’s house to celebrate a young lady’s birthday. Because she already had been feted by a gathering of friends her own age, we adults got together to have our own party with her. It gave us an opportunity to enjoy each others’ company after only having been out once the entire year.
So we were sitting around the kitchen table playing “I Spy,” when the object in question was something red. The birthday girl circuited the table, zeroing in on the red in question using our prompts of “hot” or “cold.” As she came around to my end of the table, I did have a red object, but she asked if it was my spots on my face.
I’ve had acne since I was 12. I’ll probably die with acne. I cover it as best I can without dooming my poor facial skin to premature aging or glop that has to be chipped off with a crowbar, but I still look splotchy most of the time. Some people, I’ve been told, go into seclusion rather than go out in public because of the stigma attached to not being pristine. It’s not that acne is a plague spreadable by casual contact; it just stands at the top of the list of aesthetically unpleasant stuff nobody likes to look at or acknowledge.
What happened after the comment was made? We had a laugh about it. I laughed, too, though I did have to momentarily suppress a wave of discomfort. The words I used to get hurled at me in high school crept into my subconscious: pimple-faced palsy was at the top of that list, as were the commonplace zitface, scuzzface and the lot.
Of course I realize that the age gap between the young lady and me is wide enough that I can pass off the comment as being non-malicious. She meant no harm, really; another friend’s gingham blouse was the topic of humor as well, so it wasn’t just a matter of my mug being singled out for a light jab. However, since adults tend to be more quiet about bringing such shortcomings to light in public, I hope some time will pass before I hear another reference made about my face that reminds me of how imperfection can be so painful in life.
Susan's Scribblings the Blog 