I have never liked my nose. My parents taught me to be grateful for what I have, so I have always thanked the dear Lord for the ability to breathe and detect smells. And, it holds up my glasses just fine, thank you very much. But aside from that, I have never once truly appreciated the schnoz that sits in the middle of my face. From the front, it looks like my dad's nose; from the side, it resembles my mom's. All put together, my nose has always had its own issues. Too pointy, too freckly, too crooked, too long. You name it, I could find a complaint about it. In elementary school, I was fascinated by Annie's nose: short, cute, and just right for her face. I'd have swapped with her in a heartbeat, but I doubt she wanted a proboscis with two different sized nostrils, never mind the fact that her nose probably would not look right on my face. But in 6th grade, having a nose you didn't like was a real problem. And there was nothing I could do about it.