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There’s your word!


Sunday, I was sitting at the kitchen table with my soon-to-be 3 year old grandson Rami. Bored with eating the fabulous whatever I had set in front of him, he decided it would be fun to race his plastic Triceratops on me. Rolling the sleeve up on my left arm, he galloped a bit with the dinosaur and frowned. Leaning his entire 35 pounds across me, he yanked up my right sleeve, exclaiming “there’s your word!”

As far as Rami knows, people have words. His mom has pictures on her body & I’ve got a word on mine. English, Hebrew, Sanskrit, who cares? It’s a word and it means something and it’s always there. To him, my arm doesn’t look right without the black letters.

It’s my word, alright. It’s there when I sleep and shower. When I have sex and when I do the dishes. In long sleeves and tank tops, it’s there. Isn’t that the whole point of it — to change the body forever, willingly? Unlike the small lines that appear around my eyes or the extra pounds that are piling up around my menopausal waist, I chose this change. I chose it – with forethought and a little bit of risk – and now, it is forever part of the definition of who I am.

So, my dearest grandson: word up!  You captured it 100%, dude. That is a word indeed. Take your purple dinosaur and go wild. The truth ain’t going anywhere today.

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