Keep Reading…
Do you remember one specific moment that left an indelible mark on your younger self and psyche, which might have contributed to the forming of your self-esteem…for either better, or worse? I do. I’m not too sure if it’s all that unusual or not, but I recall with painstaking detail the first public incident which started the erosion of my confidence over the next many years.
BACK TO SCHOOL…
On a random Tuesday, one early Fall day, it was mid-morning at La Jolla’s very small, private, elementary school where I was a student in the 2nd Grade. Our teacher’s name was Mrs. Thomas. She was an austere looking woman with darkish hair, often topped by an unadorned and simple “Pillbox” style hat, as well as thick, horn-rimmed glasses and smallish pink circles of rouge on her cheeks. She rarely wore any color other than dark shades of maroon or navy-blue, and her dresses were always plain, but impeccably ironed. Her wardrobe seemed a fitting match for her personality… structured, bland and anything but warm. When my class reentered the door designated “2nd Grade” following our brief morning recess, I quietly approached Mrs. Thomas at her desk and asked if I might be excused to use the bathroom. She glanced my way and issued a curt, “no, you’ve just been on a break; take your seat.” I wasn’t raised to argue with adults, nor to challenge much less defy an instruction and as such, I did as was told and sat in my seat located in the first row of small desks neatly arranged in the classroom. Mrs. Thomas then directed us to take out our “readers” and called the name of the student sitting closest to her desk. “Students, as I call your names, you will rise, walk to the front of the class and read from your book until I call the next student.” Three kids were called before Mrs. Thomas got to my name. When she did announce my turn, I once again walked by her desk on my way to the front and asked a second time to be excused? Again, she declined my request and simply said… “keep reading.” I stood at the front, trying to be polite and do as I was told. Nervously, I fidgeted and could feel my face flush, as I read from the book clutched tightly in my hands. It might have been possible that I got through roughly three sentences before I anxiously looked Mrs. Thomas’s direction and interrupted the paragraph from which I was reading. By then I was having to do a little jig, keeping my legs in motion to distract myself from the need to pee. Regardless, despite my interruption and third request to be excused, Mrs. Thomas remained steadfast... “keep reading!”
At least on that particular day, it’s a damn shame I was raised to be so polite, or maybe it was just my nature at that juncture in time to obey and be submissive? Whatever my state of mind, not one or two more jiggles occurred before I could neither dance nor control my bladder one more second. Whooosh, all of a sudden there it was…a puddle on the floor below me, kids were squealing with laughter and finally, but only then was I ushered out of the classroom and into the bathroom near the Principal’s office. Perhaps a tad late, but as it turned out God was smiling down upon me that day after all. As fortune would dictate, there was no other pair of underwear at school for me to put on, and like all “prisoners” are due, I was entitled to one phone call, which I quickly made. The phone was ringing at my home, and I couldn’t have been more relieved to hear Easy’s voice on the other end of the line. It didn’t take her 10 minutes to reach Evans, where she waited in the building’s vestibule to collect a very “broken” me. With a minimum of discussion, she took me gently by the hand, walked me to the curb outside, opened the door to her yellow Ford Pinto, and returned me to the safety of her care at home. Public humiliation is a distinctly cruel kind of punishment; whether you’re 7 years, 13 years, 27 years, 45 or 57 years old, and possessing a safe person, safe haven, or both to help insulate you from that type of shame is an unparalleled gift. That lesson became my takeaway from that terrible Tuesday in 2nd Grade. It probably has much to do with the same reason I used to “fake sick” so often on Monday mornings? Hm, let’s see…stay home with Easy, and have Chicken Noodle Soup served to me alongside Saltines on one of our “Breakfast in Bed” trays… or go to school and risk the worst type of shame I had experienced to date? Was there even a choice to be made? Not for me; my choice was Easy. Obviously enough, each week the return to school was inevitable, but not for lack of effort on my part to avoid that eventuality. If I thought my young, early dose of humiliation couldn’t be made worse, I was wrong. My 2-years younger sister Dorothy, at the time in Kindergarten, but already way cooler than me was quite willing, possibly even delighted, to retell and laugh her way through my humiliation day after day, ad nauseum.
OH, FOR PETE’S SAKE…WHO KEEPS SCISSORS IN THE HOUSE WHEN THIS DISASTER COULD POSSIBLY RESULT, AND ON MULTIPLE OCCASIONS NO LESS?
Kids, and people in general are unpredictable and can be quite cruel, particularly for a shy, goofy kind of misunderstood tomboy, who not only had a penchant for cutting her own hair (poorly) but also wanted nothing more than to be accepted. My humiliating classroom “episode” did nothing to promote any type of standing amongst my classmates and did even less to advance my self-worth. One consoling factor, thank heavens, was that the episode occurred during the Reading portion of the day. Evan’s phonics program was my friend, and I was a super good and enthusiastic reader. Had that embarrassment happened during Math, I may have never recovered? It’s one thing to be singled out and ridiculed when you’re executing a task at which you’re fairly proficient. Had I been struggling through the “times tables” that unfortunate morning, who knows how much worse I might have felt?
A handful of other school incidents remain lodged in my brain with the same lucid detail and while the messages were varied, gradually improving with time, each one stuck with me and are memorialized forever in yearbooks. By the time my Eighth-Grade graduation took place, the exterior aspects of my life couldn’t have looked any more differently than when I was a 2nd Grader at Evans, but one factor remained static. I was as equally insecure in my skin at that point as I had been six years earlier. So, when I read the inscription a boy in my 8th Grade class (who I ‘might’ have had a slight crush on) wrote in my yearbook, I wasn’t sure what to make of it? Ty’s handwriting could not have been any clearer, “To a C student, have a good summer. You’re a fox.” Okay, what the hell was that? He led with an obvious dig at my presumably dubious brain power, but then closed with a compliment? Was that an ouch, or a damn those boys, I’ll just never understand them? Whatever it was, I sure hope I didn’t give the boy as much thought as I gave his back-handed comment? By the grace of God, four years later, with my High School graduation imminent, my sense of self and confidence had improved. The final day of our formal school schedule was spent cleaning out lockers, signing yearbooks and bidding goodbyes to the Boarding students who were leaving before the Baccalaureate service and our actual Graduation Ceremony was scheduled to occur. I remember feeling elated as I thumbed through the signature Black hardbound book with the traditional Blood Red script, to find there wasn’t a single comment in that yearbook, which I was confused by or displeased to read. Quite the opposite…it was easy to skim through the book and see what was on the pages within. One of those entries read, “To the prettiest cheerleader Dunn School will ever, ever have…I wish you all the best and hope to see you again soon. Love, M.B.
DEFINITELY NOT A CONVENTIONAL TYPE OF HIGH SCHOOL GRADUATION CEREMONY, BUT AT LEAST I LOOKED CUTER AND WAS FAR MORE CONFIDENT THAN I HAD BEEN IN 2ND GRADE, AND AS AN ADDED BONUS…I NO LONGER CUT MY OWN HAIR.
Confession…I can’t lie; I’m horrible at it, which is also why I don’t play Poker. My face reveals everything that a good card player or liar would want to keep hidden. Perhaps this might sound a bit vain, but I’d keep reading messages like the one above in my Dunn yearbook over and over. Who wouldn’t? My self-esteem was boosted during those high school years, but there was still work left to do! Little by little, I chipped away at the stash of shame I had managed to pick up over the preceding years, some part of which had to have been initially created in that 2nd grade classroom. Eventually I learned to be my own advocate; I learned I could achieve on my own, and I learned to step out of my comfort zone. It’s a lot tougher than some may think to “buck” the system you’ve been groomed and raised to perpetuate, but I challenged myself to do precisely that. I also tried to build on the unique qualities I discovered were mine and those which I could offer my family, community, as well as a larger audience, if and when possible… like right here in DearEasyDiaries. Allowing myself to feel proud of accomplishments feels good. It’s incredibly empowering to understand the impact we each hold to make a difference in this world. Whatever your contribution may be…however small or grand, and whether it’s done visibly or without recognition, every ounce of effort dedicated to a cause beyond yourself is not just intensely gratifying, but actually helps grow our own self-worth as well. A win/win. Knowing that my life, or your life, has the power to exact change and make a positive difference for someone, somewhere in the world is really exhilarating.
But be cautious too; don’t ever take anything for granted. Life has a way of waking you up…fast, especially if we have let ourselves become a bit complacent?
Fifty-seven years sounds like an awful long time, right? It does to me, and I’ve got the grey hairs (most often well-disguised) to show for it. Maybe that’s why I was so blown away a year or two ago when I found myself super “down” and floundering after experiencing a truly crappy situation? I had worked so hard to escape those past feelings of helplessness and unrest, I simply could NOT accept any circumstance which might result in me feeling stuck in a puddle of humiliation again? It is with that memory in mind as well as all the experiences between that one specific day in 2nd Grade and now, that I sincerely hope you will read the words by F. Scott Fitzgerald below and then “keep reading” DearEasyDiaries. I’m grateful for each of you and am also thrilled to report, I no longer …. dread Mondays, fake sick, and haven’t cut my own hair in decades!
“FOR WHAT IT’S WORTH: IT’S NEVER TOO LATE, OR IN MY CASE TOO EARLY, TO BE WHOEVER YOU WANT TO BE. THERE’S NO TIME LIMIT, STOP WHENEVER YOU WANT. YOU CAN CHANGE OR STAY THE SAME; THERE ARE NO RULES TO THIS THING. WE CAN MAKE THE BEST OR THE WORST OF IT. I HOPE YOU SEE THINGS THAT STARTLE YOU. I HOPE YOU MEET PEOPLE WITH A DIFFERENT POINT OF VIEW. I HOPE YOU LIVE A LIFE YOU’RE PROUD OF. IF YOU FIND YOU ARE NOT, I HOPE YOU HAVE THE COURAGE TO START ALL OVER AGAIN. - F. SCOTT FITZGERALD
PS: HAPPY NATIONAL DOG DAY FROM MY CREW, RUGER & STELLA!
I HAVE NO CLUE WHAT I’D DO WITHOUT THEM.