What a strange relationship I have with my reflection. As a small child gifted with a devilish cherubic round freckled face, bowl cut hair, rotund pale blue eyes, and a professional smile taught to me by my mother the portrait photographer, I was conditioned to flash the fabulous with boomeranging adoration. It was easy to gain favor by laughing and grinning - no velvet rope kept me out of any exclusive club. No mirror was necessary as I learned to get energy from my surroundings with very little effort. By the time I reached school age, it became clear I needed more tools to maintain artificial flow. Performance on stage, instrument, ice and field completed the ruse. By embodying excellence in the arts and athletics, I was able to avoid the the gaps that stared back at me, obscure the academic lag in my game, balance the dulled shine of the Gerber Prince. Adolescence brought obsession with my external appearance. Cute gave way to awkward and acne. Below average grades took more notice than goals or song. Realization that what looked back at me was not a likeness of which I was proud. Excess of substance and flesh created the smoke necessary to pull off the magic of illusion.
More needed here......
Flash to the present.....
Glaring light illuminates every undulation in my replica. I am enough.
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