Old pictures–I was always kind of a messy, sloppy kid. My big head, big face, big nose, ears that stick out–they were there and with me from the beginning. There’s me sitting on my brother’s bed with him and I am four or five. I look like I am clearly either a girly little boy, or just plain silly and crazy. Indeed, I was mistaken for a girl a lot when I was little, and I can remember my grandfather on my mom’s side (step one, not the reclusive bio one) hating me and loving my adopted brothers for they were more like normal boys than I was. Was it something stuck in me from the very beginning, or what? I’ve tried to answer this my whole life.
My problem though is that I either fall into a delusion of thinking that the differences between me and your average handsome dude aren’t that great (why, if I squint my eyes when I look in the mirror, I’m practically George Clooney), or they are utterly exceptional and it’s a gap I will never come close to bridging (I look like some kind of bulbous-nosed clownish, freak–Captain Kangaroo with a big red nose or something). By this, I mean both my personality, my physiognomy–everything that makes me intrinsically me both to myself and to others–how I am perceived by them. I used to think that my head was massive compared to other people’s heads, and then in one of my anthropology classes we measured the diameters of our skulls and mine was only about half a centimeter in diameter bigger than the average guy in the classroom and maybe a centimeter in diameter bigger than the average girl. So, yes, my head is bigger than average, but it’s not like I’m the kid from the movie Mask or something.