Introduction

I guess you could call this the story of my story.

The proper “this is Robert’s big, exciting life of ugliness” story starts just a couple of pages beyond this. But I wanted to write an introduction for this special edition of Ugly to tell you some of the reasons why I wrote the book. If you’d rather skip ahead and read about my actual life first, that’s fine. This will be here when you finish. I’ll wait.

When I was growing up, I had no idea that I would ever have a story worth telling, let alone one people might want to read or listen to. First of all, there was just too much life to be living—making new friends, fighting with my brothers and sisters, wondering if I’d ever make it onto the football team, and getting into mischief. Beneath those parts of my childhood, though, the ugly little pieces of my story were falling into place.

Eventually, my life became my story. And I decided there were more reasons to write Ugly than to leave it unwritten.

The first reason was the simplest: I love telling stories. Storytelling is the Krazy Glue that holds us all together. Stories can soar and sing and surprise. And sometimes, when we share our own stories, they do all three at once.

My story certainly had a surprising start. I was born with a massive tumor in the middle of my face and two deformed legs. My parents weren’t initially sure what to do with me, and my doctors didn’t even know if I’d live very long. Understanding my parents’ initial feelings and sharing a little bit of their story with others who may have faced a similar situation was the second major reason for writing my story.

The final reason I wrote Ugly is the most important. I wanted to talk to you, readers, about what it means to grow up looking and feeling different. Too often, adults try to suggest that differences in appearance don’t matter by pretending they simply don’t exist. But you and I know the world looks different. Why? Because we are different. We don’t have to define ourselves solely by our differences, but we don’t have to ignore them, either.

• • •

It’s also worth saying that most books are a little bit of a lie—even when the story they’re telling is true.

Lives in books often look like a completed jigsaw puzzle. Even if the puzzle was messy to start with, by the end of a book all the pieces magically fall into place. Like puzzle pieces, lives in books have some sharp corners, some curvy parts, and some straight edges. One piece clicks into another, and the picture they make becomes clear and complete.

When you’re in the middle of actually living your life, however, there’s no picture of what it should look like at the end to guide your choices.

Few people know what the big picture of their life is going to look like while they’re living it. I certainly didn’t when I was growing up. I questioned a lot of my choices and often wondered if I had done the right thing. The answers only seem obvious when you get to the end of the book, when you turn the last page and the puzzle suddenly looks complete.

Life is not a book, though.

If you’re different from other kids, don’t worry about the jigsaw puzzle. Don’t judge yourself by everyone else’s seemingly beautiful picture. And don’t worry if your final picture doesn’t seem clear or if the edges around your story don’t seem sharp. It might become clear later. Maybe it will remain entirely random until the very last piece slots into place, when everything becomes beautifully obvious. Or maybe the puzzle pieces won’t ever seem to entirely fit together at all.

All of that’s okay. None of us knows which bits of our lives will slot nicely together while we are living them. We are all a bit worried sometimes, confused at other times—even if our books make our lives seem magical.

The solution is simple: Be unafraid of living.

The puzzle pieces will take care of themselves.