You are not ugly

Dear younger me,

You are not ugly.

I know that you take a while to grow into the family nose that you inherited. I know that you often think of yourself as plain and kind of goofy. And I know that you are self-conscious about your appearance.

Don't get stuck on any of these things, because while you get made fun of at times, no one that matters has ever said anything about any of it.

You aren't tall or overly muscular, but you are fast and agile. Use that. You can excel at a lot of things if you forget about what you're not or what you can't be, and instead focus on what you are and what you can be.

Don't worry about brand name clothing, either. I have learned that marketing can be more important than packaging. The brand name on someone's clothing is just the packaging; you are marketing yourself every time you leave the house. Care more, wear clothes that fit you properly, and look people in the eye. You are just as valuable as they are.

You don't have much, so appreciate what you have, treat it well, and don't worry. I promise we are okay.

Postscript - not for him, but for you

My clothes were never much to write home about. They rarely fit well and were never the popular brands. The roughest thing for me was shoes.

As I recall, I would get new shoes once per year. They were always cheap, but none were as bad as the ones I had in junior high school. For each of the two years I got new shoes in time for basketball season, and both years they were old man running shoes. They were okay enough for basketball, although all of my friends were able to purchase the "team shoe." While everyone else was wearing matching black Nikes and looking cool, I was wearing all white Reeboks, and looking like I got lost trying to find the shuffleboard court.

The big problem came when track season rolled around in spring. By then my shoes were pretty well worn slick, and both years the soles of my shoes were peeling apart starting at the toe. When I ran, they sounded like flip-flops. I had to adjust my gait in order to minimize the flipping and flopping, but it was difficult to fully prevent. When we would run laps in the gym, everything felt silent, except for the flip-flop of my old man shoes. I wish I would have thought to ask the shop teacher, Mr. Leonard, for some rubber cement to fix them. I know he would have let me.

I know the story sounds funny, but it was humiliating. In the end, I just stuffed those feelings down into the same little space that held all of my other ones.