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I had so many freckles that my mother used to say that they were kisses from the angels. I still have them.

I have moles and freckles, and they irritate me. They are an insecurity of mine, and I wish I could have clear, beautiful skin.

On my mother's side, I'm English, so that's where the freckles come from. On my father's side, I'm German, and he has the fantastic olive hues... I was given mum's skin, whereas my brothers and sisters were given my dad's skin. I do tan up quite well, but it takes me a bit longer.

When I was seven, these kids in the alley behind our house in Omaha called me Freckleface Strawberry. I hated my freckles, and I hated that name. I thought it was humiliating in the way that only a seven-year-old could hate it.

It is important to me to take care of my skin. In general I don't like to wear foundation; I'm not a fan of the look. I like my skin fresh and natural enough so my freckles show through.

I wasn't always black... there was this freckle, and it got bigger and bigger.

If I have one thing perfect, it's my eyebrows. And my feet. I love my feet. They're like Japanese feet. The rest I would like to hide. Especially my freckles. I feel ridiculous.

I'm shorter, I don't have as many freckles as Ron, and I can't do magic.

My face hasn't matured as I've grown up, and neither has my sense of humour. In the mirror, I see an older version of myself as a child, although I do have more wrinkles and freckles.

I got scars on my face that tell some kind of story. I'm looking in the mirror, and I got one scar that's really two scars - half from a baseball bat and half from playing football in college. I'll tell you, though, after a while, your face gets so wrinkled up you can hardly see them.