Growing up, I had a scar(°ÌºÛ) on my face — a perfect arrow in the center of my cheek, pointing at my left eye. I   1  it when I was three, long before I knew that scars were a   2  thing, especially for a girl. I only knew that my scar brought me   3  and tenderness and candy. As I got older, I began to take   4  in my scar, in part to stop people laughing at me, but mainly as a reaction to the thought that I should feel uncomfortable. It’s true. I was   5  the first couple of times someone pointed at my   6  and asked, “What’s that?” or called me “Scarface.” But the more I heard how   7  my scar was, the more I found myself liking it.