Inheritance

 This is a story of two Dads.  

When I was in my late 20s, I moved away from my hometown to go to college.  I was older than all the other students - they referred to us as "mature students" - and we all knew what that meant.  It was another blow to my already rocky self-confidence - fresh off a devastating split from my fiancee, and alone in a new city and school, where everyone seemed younger and prettier. 

I had exercised and dieted and was the fittest I'd ever been.  My hair was long and passable, my eyes the same blue as Dad's.  What caused me the most grief was another inheritance from Dad.  Something that no diet or exercise or skin product could reduce.  The Madsen Jaw.  The angular, solid jaw that made my Dad and his brothers (and their children and my brothers) ruggedly handsome (think Paul Newman, or Crocodile Dundee) but did not, in my opinion, sit as prettily on my face.  It wasn't all my imagination either; once a co-worker, a gorgeous young girl named Natalie, nicknamed me Jay Leno.  Not a celebrity comparison to flatter a gal.  

But I'd made peace with it - or thought I had - until a dentist I consulted for a wisdom tooth extraction asked me if I'd ever considered a jaw reduction.  A what?  That was a possibility for me, a waitress working her way through college?  I thought appearance altering surgery was for the rich and famous.  No, he advised, I might be eligible for provincial health coverage surgery.  I had never had any surgery - in fact I was meeting with him to discuss having my wisdom teeth extracted without sedation (I was terrified of sedation), but I found myself entertaining the idea.  What sealed the deal was when he opined, "You'd be a really pretty girl, if you had your jaw reduced."  OHHHH.  There it was.  All my years of secret self-loathing, confirmed out loud by a professional.  I made an appointment with the colleague he recommended.  

But as the appointment date approached, I found myself torn.  Did I really want to alter my face, to impress society's beauty ideals?  To impress an ex-boyfriend, make him see what he was missing?  What about my sense of humour?  My loyalty?  My work ethic?  Most of all - who would I be, if I altered myself?  Everyone around home who met me, immediately said, "I knew you were Bill Madsen's daughter.  You have your Dad's smile."  If I changed my face, I wouldn't belong to anyone.  

The day of the appointment, I sat in the chair, went through the procedure where the clay-like mold makes a model of my (Dad's) smile, answered all the specialist's questions:  Did my jaw ever cause me pain? No.  Make loud clicking noises?  No.  Ever lock temporarily, or make eating difficult?  No.  There was a pause, and I could see he wondered why I was considering the surgery.  I blurted out, embarrassed, that the other dentist said I'd be a really pretty girl if I had my jaw reduced.  He nodded, and after a beat said, "Well, you're a pretty girl now."  I smiled and nodded but didn't say anything, because I was blinking back tears.  

I mentioned this was a story of two Dads.  As evidence that this really is a 'small world after all', that dentist is the Dad of the woman I'm fortunate to call my boss, the owner of the farm where I now work.  

I didn't get the jaw reduction.  My Dad died 6 months ago.  Going through all the old photos of his gigantic grin, I'm so grateful to Dr. Matthews for preserving the greatest inheritance I received from my Dad.  I am a Madsen, and I have the jaw to prove it.  

(photo of me and Dad, around the time this story took place)