Badges of Honour
You know how you look in the mirror and notice a change or two. That somehow you weren’t quite as suave and smooth-skinned as you were 20 years ago. This especially applies to those of us who are in our dotage. The folk who have noticed some grey hairs.
For me it was the jowls that I noticed. There are lines on my cheeks and around my neck that I’m sure weren’t there when I was 22. I jokingly mentioned to someone who knows me better than I know myself that perhaps I could get some work done. Maybe tighten things up a bit. Make the ugly, flappy bits disappear and help me look a bit younger and more gorgeous than I really am.
Apart from the cost, they kindly and appropriately reminded me that my jowls and lines are actually badges of honour.
These ‘interesting bits’ have been hard won over decades now. They display to all who can stand to look long enough that I have actually been around the block a few times, and while I have stumbled and tripped each time, experience does count for something. It must count for a lot, actually.
Perhaps then I ought not to shy and shirk away from the wounds of The Master. Sure, it was ugly, messy and bloody, but come the time to see his buddies again, these unsightly bits are proof of his ID. Yes, it really is me, chaps and here’s the picture to go with the story.
More than that, the mushed bits and ugly bits on his hands and feet are proof of love and marks of honour. They are the visual outward display of the love that burns on the inside.
Perhaps I’ll save my pennies and wear my jowls with pride after all.