My sister once told me that my knees looked like Voldemort’s face.

After completing “The Family Knees”, I get where she is coming from.

Not many think about our knees. Or  our ear lobes, or that spot behind your ears or armpits or that knobbly bit that sticks out of your ankle ( or to be formal and fancy, your lateral malleolus). Maybe it’s because they are ugly. Maybe it’s because they do look too much like Voldemort’s face. Maybe we aren’t interested in the ugly, awkward, nobbly, wrinkly, deformed truthfulness.

But after taking these photos, and spending countless, clueless, zoomed in hours in Photoshop (in which my wonderful boyfriend Terry-Dayne saved me from close insanity ), I noticed two little scars on both my knees.

I recalled. When I was 10, at Alice Lake, I decided to ride my bike incredibly quickly down a hill, and hit a rock and flew over the handlebars. After a few rolly polly’s,  I have two pairs of scars and some blood stain  high top converse.

Whenever we fall, run, jump, swim, dance, propose, pray, and countless other practices, I doubt anyone focuses on the knees. But they let us do all of these glorious things, and it seems sad that they don’t get appreciated once in a while.

So here is a tribute to those knees, who look like Voldemort but help us stand up in the morning.

Thanks guys. You’re the bees knees.