My Face

I was born with it. I'm stuck with it. Love it or hate it, its mine. Rumor has it I inherited my daddy's eyes and my grandma's bone structure and apparently nobody bothered to donate their smile because apparently I never use it.

This non-smiling attribute has been a bane to my livelihood for a long while now. I remember my mom sending me off to a new day of school with the reminder, "Friendly people make friends, Amber." Countless school photographers, "Smile...Please?" My colorguard coach, "Don't forget to count and remember to smile!" He actually went so far as to make us put vaseline on our teeth to keep our lips from closing. I still gag remembering forcing a fake smile for the seemingly endless routine.

 Let me assure you, I am happy. Normal happy, not going around singing tunes like I'm in a stinking musical or anything. Although that does happen at times, just ask my kids. I have never been able to fake my feelings. My face at rest just doesn't look happy and for that I am sad. I don't mean to make you think that you make me mad, or your kids make me mad, or that I'm on the verge of tears, or planning the demise of everyone in my vicinity. 

So, I don't know, maybe its the recent and public scrutiny of my non-smiling face that got me thinking, or the picture that my beloved eldest son posted on instagram in a tribute to me. My close family assured me that it is the best depiction of my face and its a very mean and unhappy face. Trust me that I'm working on it. I'm sorry...


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