Some babies are born perfect. Their eyes are dark or blue, mothers know that they will change with time, their little smiles with no teeth are some of the more awesome of all things that a parent can look forward too.
They can have a head full of hair, they can be bald as a billiard ball and not grow hair long enough to cut until their third birthday. They can be chubby faced, skinny faced, have long arms, look as though they should get up and walk at six months, some get up an walk at seven, others crawl into fifteen or sixteen months.
Each baby, each particular one, can bring special meaning to their character that is enhanced by all the little things that make their personality be the primary sense, when being viewed or held by their parent, grandparent, or one who is watching that child for the day.
My brother, who started things off in 1954, had a birthmark that began as a red line, as wide as his thumb that began above his eyes about an inch, came straight down the bridge of his nose, down his nose to a perfect end, then skipped a little, and underneath his nose, under the bottom above his lip, was a dot.
The perfect exclamation mark.
And he fit the bill. He had the personality of the leader, the one that would assert himself, prove he was correct, stay in front of the pack, and always be a leader. He grew up, became a manager, moved his way on up, was the leader in the company he worked for, a Sunday School teacher, and retired and is still living the quiet life.
My sister was born in 1956. She had hair. Cute little face, but when she got mad or angry or flat out tyrannical in her attitude, she has a finger wide “V” that was an inch and a half above her eyebrows, came down perfectly on her nose and ended before her nose did and created this “V” typewriter capital letter.
Just a happy go lucky child, no birthmark. Let her get frustrated or beside herself, and this “V” would pop out. It could have stood for Venom if she was angry at you, or Victim if she blamed you for something, or Vicissitude (a change or variation occurring in the course of something) because brother when it hit it hit. Then when calmed down, she would become nice and sisterly again, meaning you would get your ear pulled but she wouldn’t be holding scissors. (Oh and it is still visible today given the right circumstances)
Now me, third and final one, the perfect baby, little to no hair, nicknamed (brutally, I always thought) Baby Huey after the cartoon goose. I had a beautiful smile, my dimples, which have not been seen in 45 years due to the beard I wear, were cute as a button. I mean it was obvious that I was a beautiful, oh ok, massive child.
My birthmark, a pointer finger wide, that began above my right eyebrow, traveled up my forehead in a round about fashion, curled back down to a straight line at my nose, and stopped, and then ended in a perfect period shape at the peak of my nose as it curled back under.
It was (or is) a perfect question mark. Backwards.
Like it had been typed on to my face from inside instead of out. There are few pictures of me when I was little, our finished film and cameras were stolen in a move across the country. But you can see it.
Which leaves it at this, it’s your guess what this birthmark has meant these last 64 years, and any bodies opinion would be something close to right. I would appreciate reading those guesses.
Ralph Peck
Photo by Ralph Peck
Ten Rocking Horses and One Giant Chicken, Nowata, Oklahoma
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