This myth in my family is a small one, really more like a logical fallacy. Example, correlation does not equal causation. Or, if A is true, and B is true, then A+B=C is true. Or is it?
My parents, who had thought it wonderful that I had grandpa Max's eyes, said it was unfortunate that I had his nose, too. Ah, well, I thought, that's the genetic roll of the dice.
Ever since I could remember, my mother would tell me that she saw my grandpa Max (my father’s father) staring at her from my eyes. Indeed, when I was old enough to notice, I agreed that our eyes were the same. Blue, but with small streams of gray and aqua, like the sea rather than the sky, a very unusual color, according to my eye doctor. Slightly turned down at each corner, they stared out at the world with an almost hyper-aware intensity. My eyes always have been the feature most memorable to others. Grandpa Max was a wonderful grandparent who introduced me to the joys of reading and writing. His death when I was 10 affected me profoundly.
At about the time grandpa Max died, my adolescence began. My nose, which had been unremarkable, began to grow and develop a bump near the top, a twist in the middle, and a hook at the bottom, just like grandpa Max’s. My parents, who had thought it wonderful that I had grandpa Max’s eyes, said it was unfortunate that I had his nose, too. Ah, well, I thought, that’s the genetic roll of the dice.
During my teens it was obvious that my nose didn’t fit the narrow standard of beauty at the time, and that it lent me a “different” look. When I became interested in theater my sophomore year in high school, I couldn’t get ingenue roles, but I got great comedic ones–the mayor’s wife in The Music Man, Lady Lucas in Pride and Prejudice, and a variety of old women, some of them mad. By the end of high school I’d pretty much accepted my grandpa Max’s nose. I certainly didn’t look cute, but then I didn’t have a cute personality either, and I could take inspiration from Fanny Brice and Barbra Streisand.
In my first two years of college, I started getting bad headaches and having trouble breathing, first occasionally, then more frequently. At the beginning of my junior year, the doctor suggested I see an ear, nose, and throat specialist. My mother’s friend recommended a woman ENT, very notable in 1974. At the first appointment, in walked Dr. Dorsch, one of the most strikingly beautiful women I’ve ever seen.
After examining my nose, she asked me, “Are you an oldest child?” “Yes,” I replied, wondering why this was relevant. Dr. Dorsch explained, “The cartilage in your nose was crushed at birth, which happens more often to first babies. As bone replaced it, it became twisted and buckled. You are nearly missing a septum on one side, so no wonder you can’t breathe. As you age it will only get worse. We need to repair your septum and straighten out your nose.”
I felt a bit of disloyalty to grandpa Max in changing the nose. Would it look the same if it hadn’t been crushed at birth? I said to Dr. Dorsch that I didn’t want one of those turned-up button noses popular at the time. “Don’t worry,” she said, “I’ll make sure your nose is as natural as possible and is the right size for the rest of your facial features.”
During Christmas break I checked into the hospital for two days and had twisted bone removed, a new septum built, and my entire nose straightened and shortened to some extent. It took a while to recognize myself, but Dr. Dorsch was as good as her word. The nose did fit my face. The biggest change was how people, particularly men, regarded me. I learned the difference, both negative and positive, that looks can make.
A few months after I received my new nose, my great aunt Celia, grandpa Max’s younger sister, came out from New York to visit all her relatives on the west coast. As soon as she saw me, she said to my mother, “My god, she now looks like Leah!” Leah was grandpa Max’s wife, my paternal grandmother. I’d never really thought about it before, but with my new nose and the same coloring as grandma Leah, I did bear a strong general resemblance to her. “Well,” I said to aunt Celia, “I guess without grandpa Max’s nose, my looks have changed.”
Aunt Celia started laughing, and with a smile, said, “Oh, honey, you thought you had Max’s nose? He wasn’t born with that nose you saw. It got broken in a boxing match, when Max was in the army!”
So, I hadn’t necessarily inherited grandpa Max’s nose after all. What we’d had in common was a broken nose–everyone just made a wrong conclusion. Over time, I’ve wondered what my genetic nose was supposed to look like, but I don’t spend too much time on it. The nose I ended up with looks genetically plausible, and as a bonus it has made me look like grandma Leah. What I did inherit, to my great joy, are grandpa Max’s eyes staring out at the world.
MarianI have recently retired from a marketing and technical writing and editing career and am thoroughly enjoying writing for myself and others.
Marian, I love this story! I can’t wait to meet you in person to see your eyes that you inherited from Grandpa Max! And how funny that you and your parents thought you had Grandpa Max’s nose too, and never knew until you no longer had it that it wasn’t genetically his anyway.
You tantalize us all with this story, because you don’t have your picture on the site. And who is the woman in the featured image? Someone in your family, or just someone on the internet who was pointing at her nose?
Thanks, Suzy. The photo is of Fanny Brice (coincident to a story on last week’s prompt from Dana!). She and Barbra Streisand inspired me. I thought this photo was funny and light hearted. I wish I had a picture of Grandpa Max as a really young man (likely in his teens) before he went in the army and had his nose broken, to see what it originally looked like. Alas, I haven’t come up with one, but one of these years there could be something sitting in a bottom of a box that could come to light.
I had no idea that was what Fanny Brice looked like. I guess I always assumed she looked like Barbra Streisand in Funny Girl. 🙂
That tells you how much Barbra Streisand made “Funny Girl” her own.
Marian, I have seen your eyes in person and they are captivating. The window to your soul. As for the nose, so many of us back then, including me, had “nose jobs,” Mine was also after college. Now, when I look at myself I try to imagine how I would look at this age with the nose I was born with. I think I would have looked more like my mother, but my new face made folks say I looked like my father. Perhaps it was a foolish mistake of youth to change my appearance back then, but now it’s me.
Well, Laurie, I think back then that we got the message that certain kinds of noses weren’t ok. My mother was concerned that my old nose made me look too “ethnic.” This especially after I had my ears pierced. Given my medical issue I would have had to do something anyway. I’m glad that you think of your nose as you, and I couldn’t tell it had been “done.”
Marian, I love this story! You must have amazing eyes! As Suzy remarks, you tease us by never showing yourself on this site. My David looks the most like me, particularly when he was a baby. When I nursed him, I felt (and thought) the same as your parents…he is looking at me with MY eyes! So I was really struck by the use of the phrase by your parents about your grandfather’s eyes. But how interesting about the assumption with your nose and your grandfather’s. Sounds like you had a great surgeon who did a really good job. I understand your concern about the nose matching the face. Too often, the bridge is too small and I can spot one of those in a heartbeat.
Thanks, Betsy. What an experience for you to look into David’s eyes and see yourself. I had real confidence in my surgeon and certainly didn’t want to end up with one of those silly button noses that were popular at the time. It’s great to see the diversity of beauty that’s celebrated today.
Marian, I love your “logical fallacy” lead! Nose jobs were pretty much a rite of passage in my high school. “Everyone” was getting one and I wanted one, too, even though I didn’t need one. (My parents prevailed.) It’s surprising how rhinoplasty can make such a marked difference in one’s face. I’ve often wondered whether Jennifer Grey might wish she hadn’t had her nose done because it changed her appearance so dramatically that her fans no longer recognized her. It sounds like your nose is perfect for your face — but now you’ve got us all wondering what you look like!
Barbara, I remember a lot of high school girls having nose jobs, with the irony that I didn’t want one and then had to have it for medical reasons. I try not to have photos online for a number of reasons, first professional (lots of ageism) and also because of facial recognition technology. I know enough to be concerned.
I thought it might be something along those lines, and I certainly respect that. I sometimes use avatars I’ve enhanced digitally so that they’re still me but beyond that kind of recognition. The things we have to worry about — it’s really scary (hello, China)!
Wonderful Marian!
I never worried about my nose, but since reading Nora Ephron I do feel bad about my neck!
Yes, Dana, our worries have changed. Rejuvenating face creams have become part of my life, and my neck is next!