Kissed by an Angel


I learned today that Drew Brees and I have something in common. That’s funny, since he’s a famous quarterback, and I’m not. What could two people, so very different from each other, possibly have that is alike?

A birthmark on our faces. He doesn’t intend to have his removed, which he announced publicly in an interview that I read tonight online, and the thought never even crossed my mind about having mine removed.

My birthmark is a grayish pigmentation on my left cheek, which looks more like a smudge than anything else. And I couldn’t tell you the times someone has taken a finger or thumb and tried to wipe it off for me. It’s not budging, and I wouldn’t want it to.

When I was a little girl, I remember my first grade teacher sending me to the girl’s bathroom to wash my face after coming in from recess one afternoon. I did what she asked, but the birthmark didn’t wash off. I also remember crying about it when I got home from school that day, and my mother walking the three blocks from our house to the school the next morning with me to have a talk with my teacher. I’m sure my mother was very polite in speaking with her – my mom never had a harsh word to say to anyone – but after that nothing was ever said again about the birthmark on my face.

One thing my mother did that I am very thankful for was making me feel that my birthmark was something very special and something to be proud of. She told me that God put it there on my face for a special reason, and that it made me different from everyone else in the world. She said that it was a kiss from an angel on the day I was born. It was a lot more prominent when I was a child than it is now, but I don’t remember ever being made fun of or otherwise being made to feel like there was something wrong with me after the day my mother set things straight with my teacher. It was part of who I was, and I was very proud of the little gray oval adorning my cheek.

From time to time over the years, people have said something to me about having a dirty mark on my face, or politely suggested that I needed to wipe my cheek with a napkin or tissue. I always thought it was funny, and I’d tell them that it wouldn’t do any good – the smudge was there to stay. I hardly ever think about it any more, and I seldom even notice it when I look at myself in the mirror. It’s been a long time since anyone told me my face was dirty!

Reading the story about Drew Brees, brought this all back to me tonight, bringing back a childhood memory long buried, and also echoing my mother’s words to me about my birthmark being special. I am very glad that I have it, and that it is a part of who I am. And I like the fact that it is on my face, where I,and everyone else, can see it.

I have proof that I was kissed by an angel, and it’s on my face for the world to see!


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