My mother always says that she knew immediately upon meeting my dad that he would be her husband. Her cousin was fixing her up with someone else, but when she saw my father and liked him better, said he was the best looking man at the dance. He has always been handsome, and back in the day, he was quite the good-looking dude, with thick, chestnut-brown hair, navy blue eyes and a warm smile. The most prominent feature on his face—what this post is really all about—is his nose. It always has been and it always will be. It’s a big one. But my mother looked past it and fell in love with him. She did however tell him once they were happily wed (and jokingly of course, though we all know jokes are usually truths we’re afraid to admit) that should any of their children be blessed/cursed with his nose, he would have to pay for rhinoplasty!
Well, lucky me, I got daddy’s nose. My mother begs to differ. In fact most people do. I understand why. My dad’s nose is big, as I mentioned before. Mine is not. From the front it is quite cute, I would say. It’s small, sort of bony and fits my face nicely. From the side, however, it is an exact replica of my father’s. Take my word—throughout my teen years I spent many a night in between two mirrors studying my profile and praying for it to grow prettier. Why couldn’t I have the straight nose like my younger sister, I wondered. Or like my older sister, one that is subtly sloped and points ever so slightly upwards at the tip…cuter even than Samantha’s from Bewitched. Instead mine has a big bump at the bridge, elongated nostrils and points just a titch downwards. Basically, it is my dad’s nose miniaturized. (Last time I discussed this with my mother, and showed pictures as proof, she started to agree).
So rhinoplasty. It was on my mind a lot when I was younger. I wanted a perfect nose. If my parents couldn’t afford it I would save all my pennies and pay for it myself. I thought about it, and asked for it, and saved my money…And then I started to grow up. I started to see my nose as a special part of who I am. So it has a bump like my dad’s but there’s no mistake that I am his daughter. I look at it (only on occasion these days) and scoff at the idea I once had to get it fixed, to change my God-given face for vanity when it’s really not so bad anyway. In a way it breaks my heart to think I ever wanted to trade it in.
This past weekend I had some friends in town from Florida. It was K’s birthday and everyone wanted to celebrate New York City style. Through another well-connected Manhattan friend we managed to get ourselves into a swanky private club I ordinarily would never set foot into, first because I’d never get in the door being the ordinary gal I am and next because I don’t typically cavort with the model/celeb crowd. It was fun for a night but in all honesty I felt just a little out of place amongst the sculpted figures and smoothed out faces—breasts perfectly round, lips plump, eyebrows lifted and yes, noses straightened. To each his or her own I always say, so if that means a little nip-tuck-slice-dice, fine. Heck maybe one day I’ll be bothered by my laugh lines and want some work done. As for my nose however, I’m glad my parents couldn’t afford rhinoplasty and that my jar of loose change was a few pennies too short. I’m thankful for the time I had to grow into my nose and finally love it, bump and all.