My best friend my junior and senior years in High School called me “Scarface.”  So did one of my best friends in college.  But I used to make fun of the college guy’s nose, too.  The man had a Roman nose.  It roamed all over his face!  (I think I got that from Shecky Green, but I’m not sure.  It sounds like a typical Rickels’ or Rivers’ retort.)

Honestly, I was so young when I got the scar, it never really bothered me.  I grew up with the damned thing.  By the time such things really mattered to me, during my pubescent years, I was too preoccupied with black heads and pimples to even notice it.  Clearasil and Phisohex can only do so much, right?

At some point during my college years in North Carolina, I began to notice the scar more.  But it was only after an exchange I had with my mom’s oldest sister.  I don’t even know how the subject came up.  I think that maybe my aunt just looked at me one time and said something like, “You know, I barely even notice that scar any more.“  Maybe my aunt was around one time when “The Schnoz” called me “Scarface,”  and she reacted.  Whatever and whenever and under which ever circumstances she said what she did, matter not to me.  What she said matters a great deal.

My Aunt Geraldine looked me squarely in the eyes during that exchange and said the words that changed my life.  Well - at least the words changed my attitude.  And to this day, when I feel self-esteem drifting away just a bit, I think of my wise Aunt Jerry and her words that day 40 years ago.

“I think your scar is sexy!”

Oh, how I love you, Aunt Jerry!