Friday, January 16, 2015

Lookin Good

When I played baseball in High School I took a line drive to the face one day that left me with mashed skin and a permanent scar on my left cheekbone.  At the time I didn't mind because every cheerleader that I ever wanted was fawning over my bloodied face.  When I went to BC the girls thought it was a cute dimple.  My scar. Honestly, I never really thought about it.

After I became a food journalist and wrote a novel there were some people who wanted to take pictures with me.  Lots of people.  I went on photo shoots and television shows where they wanted to put makeup on me.  I liked the idea of looking good.

Like this.

But, I always said:  "Don't cover up the scar.  It's part of me.  Let people see it.  Call it my warrior symbol.  I've been beaten up and it what makes William be William."  Don't get me wrong, I like the fussing over me with the wardrobe and the shoes and the lighting and the hair and all of that but if I can't show my flaws then I'm not me. My incorrections and my bad moments are probably my greatest ideas and contributions, made up for with laughter and wisdom and the endless hours with notebooks capturing story after story.

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