The school called. “Your daughter hasn’t been pick…

my eyes.

And above her upper lip, on the left side, was a tiny vertical white scar.

My scar.

I got it when I was six years old, jumping off a swing at my grandmother’s house and splitting my face against the metal pole because I believed, at six, that I could land like a gymnast if I committed hard enough to the idea.

I had seen that scar in the mirror continue reading …