I think what fascinated me most about the little girl I was writing about the other day, from that show on the Discovery Channel, Born Without a Face, was that she seemed so normal...but for the whole no-face thing. She bopped around and giggled and flirted, just like any other little toddler, being all babyish and cute. She was adorable, despite the undeniable disfigurement of her litttle mug.
In one scene, they showed her in the bathroom with mommy, recognizing herself in the mirror, which I find to be one of the cutest moments ever in a young child's life. "Look honey, that's you!" Her mommy said, like any mother talking to any other child, seeing themselves in the mirror for the first time. The little girl got so excited, and waved exuberantly, and squealed with joy. What was she thinking? "Look, that's me! Hey, hot stuff!" Or was she too little get it, and therefore thinking, "oh cool, another baby is in the bathroom! what's up, girl?" In any case, one thing was clear: she greeted her own image with the most innocent, sincere, unadulterated joy, without even the slightest sense that there was anything wrong with her young visage. If I were her mother, I would have sold my soul to bottle that blithe confidence.
Then I would have sold it to the women of the world who spent thousands of dollars on bleaching their hair, smoothing their wrinkles, and flattening their cellulite. Women, like me, who take their working parts for granted.