Purple in the cold weather, and red year round: that is the color of my hand. I like to think of it as my “magic power”: that my skin can change color with the weather, and that I can predict when it’s going to be cold out. But really, I was just born with a port wine stain on my hand.

I never actually noticed the red mark on my hand until one of my friends pointed it out to me, back in the third grade. (I guess that was pretty inattentive of me, being that it’s on the back of my hand.) At first, I became very self-conscious about it; I always thought people would make fun of me because one of my hands was red, and that they would think I had a disease. Like my older sister; she’s always looking for an opportunity to humiliate me. This one time at a family party, all of the cousins, including myself, were swimming in my aunt’s pool. Once our lips started turning blue and our teeth started chattering, we all got out. And, since my body was cold, my hand turned purple, as it always does when the temperature drops. My sister, finding this the perfect opportunity, announced out loud to everyone “Hey look! Kristen’s hand is purple.” So of course, everyone looked at my hand, and I got embarrassed and ran away crying. It wasn’t until I started becoming super self-conscious about it, (like pulling my sleeves over my hand to cover it up), that my mom told me it was nothing to worry about. She showed me pictures of other people who had port wine stains, and it relieved me to see that I wasn’t the only one. And it also made me realize that mine wasn’t half as bad as some other people’s: some people have big ones across their faces.

This new knowledge about my “stain” made me embrace it. I started telling myself that I was special because of this: that I was magical. Thus began the era of my having magic powers. When winter would come around, I would “amaze” my friends. I would say something about how my hand turns purple when it’s cold out, and then whip it out. They would all “ooh” and “ahh” in amazement, and I would feel like the coolest fifth grader around, (with magic powers).

But, as time carried on, I grew; as did my stain. And it didn’t grow as in, getting redder and bigger, but it grew with my body, and spread until it almost faded away. It’s almost like my powers are fading; although, my hand still turns deep purple in the winter. Even if not totally visible anymore, my “powers” will always be a part of me.