A is for Apple (and a post on editing)

1.
I remember first grade as the year of apples. It was the year all the kids gave shiny waxed apples to Mrs. Wallace. One day I decided I would join the apple kids. I picked an apple from our tree and brought it to school. Sadly, my apple didn't look like the others. It had specks all over it. I had asked my mom about the specks, and she just said it was the kind of apple it was. "It's a speckled apple. Not a thing wrong with it. Not all apples looked like they came from Safeway." But Mrs. Wallace wasn't so sure about my gift. Are you sure these gray specks belong on the apple? she asked. Oh yes, I told her. I was sure. My mom said so. Mrs. Wallace washed and polished my apple. Next thing I knew, the apple started to look like the other apples . . . Well, not exactly like it came from Safeway. But the specks vanished.

Mom, I said later that day. Mrs. Wallace said my apple was dirty.
She did?
Yeah. She washed it and the specks went away.
Oh. She didn't like specks.
It was dirt, Mom. You think I should eat dirty apples?
Well, what do you think the animals do? If it's fine for them, it's fine for us, too.

2. Once, when I went to the dermatologist, one of her assistants told me she'd had her freckles removed. She was really proud of it. I guess there's some new technique out there that removes freckles. I think she thought I might want to do it, too.

You did what? I asked.
I erased my freckles. I feel so much prettier!
Why did you do that? You didn't have many freckles, did you?
I hated my freckles.
You only had a few. I didn't even notice them.
Oh, but when you see your own freckles, they multiply. It's like a freckle attack.
Wow! I had no idea.

I have been wondering about my freckles ever since.

3. Sometimes I spend so much time in the last editing of a poem. It's as if tiny blemishes or specks jump off the page. I never see them until right before I am about to publish a poem.

I sometimes wonder if they are a big deal. Or if I am only making a big deal out of them.