Flawed

“Mommy, you shouldn’t wear shorts.”

I looked at my child, so sweet and lovely with her skinny little legs peppered with bruises and said, “Why the hell not?”

I didn’t exactly put it that way, but I did ask why she thought I shouldn’t be wearing shorts.

“You look silly,” she said.

“Silly? How do I look silly?” I asked.

“You just do.”

I pressed her. “What about me wearing shorts is silly?”

She pointed to the four-inch scar running from just above my left kneecap to just below.

Oh that.  “Honey, I’m not ashamed of my scar,” I said.

And I’m not. I do remember how I worried about that scar and what my knee would look like after the doctor cut into it. I was going to take a picture of the knee the morning of my surgery just to remember what it looked like but wound up getting so ill that morning that the last thing I wanted to do was pose for a photo.

It turns out I can remember what it looked like by looking down at the right knee. They were remarkably similar once upon a time.

Then there was the other day when Autumn and I were in the car playing the game “Who is…”

“Who is the tallest?” asked Autumn.

“Daddy,” I replied then asked, “Who is the shortest?”

“I am!” she replied.  But I corrected her and said technically Molly is shorter than she is.

“Well then I’m the mediumest,” she said.

We pondered these facts for a few moments.

“So Daddy’s the biggest and I am the littlest…who’s the WIDEST?”

I did not hesitate.

“ME!” I raised my hand and we both laughed.

I’m not ashamed of my scar or that I am the WIDEST in the family. These are the things that make me who I am and I want my child to know that I’m very much okay with being flawed.

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