My mother has fair, white skin from a decent of European colonists from England and Ireland, mainly. My father has brown skin with a little black mole on his cheek and one more on his calf. His brown skin is inherited from a long decent of Filipino ancestors. I am the oldest of four and our complexions range across a gradient of light brown and tan. Anyone can see how four children are related to my dad, but at the grocery store my mo has often been asked, "Are those your kids?" To this she would smile knowingly and reply, "Yes. Yes, they are." When we're all together, it looks like mom is an outcast among sun-kissed legs and arms, but you must look past the obvious to see a secret trait that tie my brother, and two sisters to my mom, closer than skin. We share the secret trait of abnormal ears.
Darwin's tubercle, also known as Darwin's bump, Woolnerian tip, or auricular tubercle, is a small bump found on the top part of the ear's helix. Charles Darwin was the first to describe this feature in his book, called The Decent of Man, tying the trait of common ancestry among primates. Having a bump on my ear must relate me to monkeys. Personally, I try to avoid all association with being related to monkeys, they don't seem like an appealing ancestor. I'd rather be related to flamingos with their long, elegant legs, or fish with their moist lips and swimming skills.
Though little ear bumps are named after Darwin, he himself named it after Thomas Woolner, who sculpted the little bump in his statuette, Puck. Currently, Puck can be found at Tate Britain, a national gallery of British art. Tate Britain displays a wide variety of British art from the time of Tudor monarchs to the present day, with the goal of promoting interest in British art all over the world. Among these British pieces, Puck stands on a little toadstool with the toes on his right foot pointed toward a toad sitting contently while a snake creeps stealthily towards it. Puck is a bronze, imp-like creature with two triangle wings sprouting from the curved muscles of his back. The sprite wears a mischievous grin that spreads across his rounded cheeks as he is about to warn the toad of incoming danger. Relation to a sprite makes more sense to me. I share many traits with a sprite: small feet, short stature, graceful, mischievous. Puck particularly seems relatable, flitting around to warn small animals of danger.
My mother is especially like the clever creature, Puck, because she is always quick to save small animals. This past summer she came to the rescue of a small baby bunny found in our backyard. She found the brown, fuzzy figure lying mangled among the long green grass, unable to move. Everything in her hands then fell to the ground and she ran inside with the bunny cupped in her hands. The furry baby was sad and helpless, one of its hind legs dangling by a flap of skin. We think a dog had come after her, chomped down on her delicate hind leg, and then by some miracle she had managed to get free. Several rags, a flimsy brown box, and a large pair of scissors were collected in preparation for surgery. Mom and my adopted brother then disappeared into the bathroom with supplies and cottontail. After a handful of nerve-wracking moments, a loud cry echoed through the house. In my experience with rabbits, they usually make short, quiet noises that sound sweet and pleading. But the sound that pealed through the space of the house that day was long and sorrowful. The sound pierced every heart in attendance. Nothing can compare to the sorrowful cry of a baby bunny. When I remember that day and the valiant acts of my mother, that sound always echoes in my ears, a sound that I can never forget.
I am thankful to have a tubercle on my ear like my mom; it connects me to her valiance. My siblings and I have different variations of our mother's ear mutation. My sister carries the burden of ears slightly larger than normal. Most people can't tell, but often she self-consciously covers them with strategically placed strands of thick brown hair. My brother's ear features a dimple on a slight fold on the edge of his left ear, to match charming dimples on his smiling cheeks. My little sister's hides a little bump of cartilage behind her right ear, which she rubs with her fingers when she's trying to think really hard. Mom and I are the closest in our abnormalities, tubercles pointing out like elfish ears. The only difference is that hers on her right.
Elfish ears were not originally pointed; they were round and human-like in pictures, until Arthur Rackham illustrated all non-humans with pointed ears. Garth Williams, inspired by Rackham's work, began to portray some of his elves with pointed ears and some without. Pointed ears on elves have been said to come from folklore, when storytellers describe elves with leaf-like qualities, including leaf-like ears. Audiences then assumed it meant they were pointed at the tip.
Such features as ears transform the human into a mystical creature, whether it is an imp, sprite, elf, or fairy. In my mind, mom, my two sisters, brother and I are tied by a mystical quality, wrought by a simple transformation. Would the transformation of any other feature be just as magical, mysterious? Misshapen teeth could resemble the terror of a vampire. Hairy legs and trimmed beard resemble the cross between human and goat of a fawn. I believe that we could each relate a unique personal quality to a magical creature. It only takes a small stretch of the imagination. Consider then how folklore contains many human-like creatures. There is something inside us all that yearns for each of our abnormal qualities to enhance our character, or grant us power.
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