I attended my high school reunion over the weekend. We do this ritual every ten years or so, and I haven’t missed one yet. I was sorry that some of my classmates couldn’t attend due to distance and schedules and the general nuts and bolts of life, but that’s to be expected. It doesn’t diminish the event for me if every friend I’ve ever had can’t be there. In fact, there were more than enough people there for me to try to figure out who’s who.
I have to tell you, overall my classmates look pretty darn good to me. As a group they have aged well. Sure, there are a few exceptions but overall they don’t look a whole lot different than they did way back when, except that now they look like adults. Well, most of them. I swear there are two or three who got stuck in some soft of funky time warp thing.
I’ve been thinking about the weekend and all the people I saw, and what struck me was how much positive energy I felt with that group. It makes sense, doesn’t it? The people who are feeling pretty good about life, and don’t mind spending the time and energy it takes to get to the reunion (even if they live around the corner) are the ones who show up. The ones who are struggling stay at home. Those who hated high school or who hate people in general can’t be bothered to come to this event. That’s okay. I’m not saying high school is the be all, end all. Quite the opposite. In fact, I was struck by how little of the conversation had anything to do with high school at all. Time and again I caught up with people and learned what their lives are like now. There have been triumphs and tragedies, but nobody seemed to dwell in the past.
I was glad to see that. I think of the old Bruce Springsteen song, “Glory Days” and feel relieved that I’m part of a group that isn’t living that depressing reality. Our best days are not behind us. Our best days are everyday. Can you go back? Certainly, as long as you continue to simultaneously go forward.
When I was a young student teacher part of my training required me to videotape and critique one of my lessons. Apart from the complex logistics of borrowing the appropriate equipment (no cell phones in those days), I regard this exercise as one of the most irritating, yet ultimately helpful experiences in my training. Still, I hated it.
You see, I was fat. I’ve been fat to greater or lesser degrees since roughly puberty. In seventh grade home economics class the teacher measured each of us so that we would use the correct size pattern for garment construction. It was all very sensible, and not done to make anyone feel embarrassed or awkward, but c’mon, we were in seventh grade!
My waist measurement was a full three inches greater than most of the other girls. Well, two and a half, but it felt like three. It was, gasp, twenty-nine and a half inches. Most of the girls were in the twenty-five to twenty-seven inch range. In retrospect most of them hadn’t hit puberty yet, either, but my twelve-year-old brain didn’t take that into consideration. It also didn’t take the fact that I was taller than most of them into account either. I just felt big and fat. I wish the me today could have talked to the twelve-year-old me.
The me now might not have as many weight issues if that were the case. I could comfort that little girl and explain to her that everyone develops at their own pace, and try to convince her that she was just fine. Maybe I could ease her worries just a bit. Then I would encourage her to keep riding her bike and swimming and playing basketball and volleyball and soccer, even if she wasn’t the best. Maybe she would have developed the confidence to stay active instead of shrinking toward the sidelines.
Unfortunately, my mother was of no help at all. I’m adopted and by the time I was twelve I was way bigger than my mom ever would be. I towered over her, and outweighed her by a considerable margin. She’s barely over 5 feet tall and was under 100 pounds when she married. She didn’t have a clue what it was like to feel big and awkward. In fact she didn’t have much of a clue about puberty at all. I had to ask for a training bra at age 10. Talk about humiliating. I tried hinting, but it didn’t work. Unlike other little girls of 10, I really needed one.
Going through junior high and high school I was always on the bigger side, but not so big that I couldn’t shop in the regular stores. That would come later. I always loved to eat, and as I got older much of my social life involved going out for food. I grew up in the cold Northeast, and that’s what people do for 9 months of the year or so. Then the weather gets better and we have picnics and barbeques all summer. Oh, and we drink. Hey, it’s cold outside!
Sure enough the freshman 15 found me, along with a little extra. Then I graduated, got a job, moved in with my boyfriend, and really got comfortable. Stretchy pants became my friends, and the extra pounds didn’t seem to matter so much. Big sweaters were in style and life was good.
Then came graduate school and student teaching. I needed clothes. Real clothes. Suits. Nothing fit. I had to move up to the plus size department. It was humiliating, especially since my tiny mother was the one taking me shopping for my professional wardrobe. She’s never been easy to shop with. It was awful, but I did come away with some really lovely pieces. Thank you Liz Claiborne and Jones of New York for making beautiful clothing for plus size women, even way back then when everyone else was putting all the fat women in pastel polyester.
Off I went to my student teaching gig, doing quite a good job of it, thank you very much. Then came the videotape assignment. Ugh. I did NOT want to do it. Of course I had seen myself in the mirror, millions of times. But pictures somehow were different, they made me look bigger than I thought I was. They still do. And video? Well that’s a hundred times worse. Now not only will I see all sides of me, but I’ll have to listen to the silly things I say, and watch the awkward way I move. No thanks. I wasn’t looking at it from the standpoint of how it could help me assess my teaching practice at all. I was too wrapped up in my own self concept of my physical attributes to move into the realm of what the assignment could do for me. I was fixated on what it would do TO me. Stupid girl.
Still, it was required, so I sucked it up and did it. I soon forgot the camera and just taught the lesson. Afterwards I avoided watching the video for a couple of days, but I had to watch it to critique it, and the assignment was coming due. I couldn’t put it off forever. I put the tape in, prepared for the worst. The first minute I spent cringing as I went through a mental checklist. Hair? Not bad. I like those earrings. My voice is loud enough, but not too loud. That jacket really does look nice with that skirt, but ugh, I walk like a linebacker.
Soon I ran out of things to fixate on, so I began to actually pay attention to the teaching. Hey, that was a good point I made. Uh oh, I rushed through that part of the directions, no wonder the students got confused when they got to that part of the assignment. Oh no, I never saw her raised hand as I was teaching. Hey, those two have been passing notes! I didn’t see that during the lesson. Great job having all the materials in place before hand, distributing everything went very quickly and smoothly. And so on. Once I stopped worrying about the silly stuff like my hair and my weight, I could focus on the important stuff, like how to best reach my students and where to hone my skills. It was an eye opening experience, one that my professor included for a very good reason.
I still don’t love seeing myself on video, but I no longer cringe at the thought. I am valuable. I have a place in this world. Ok, maybe I take up a little more space than most people, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be in the picture. I contribute to my family, to my workplace, and to my students lives. I have a voice and I use it. If it occasionally ends up in video, so be it. Maybe I will reach someone who needs to hear my message, or even just see me being happy with who I am. After all, isn’t that our ultimate goal? To live in a way that makes us happy and satisfied with who we are and what we have to offer the world? I think it is.
The house is quiet except for the sound of rain against the windows and roof, and the soft snoring coming from both the couch and the love seat. I couldn’t be happier.
We’re in transition, this little family of mine. There are four of us, three humans and a dog. My sixteen-year-old son stretches his lanky body across the long couch, breathing in and out rhythmically to the sound of the rain. My fiancé is on the love seat, one leg bent across the arm, the other on the floor, occasionally letting out a noise to let me know he’s still alive and asleep. They have both fallen asleep without meaning to, victims of their own exhaustion.
They are missing the summer storm, with its steady rain and gently rumbling thunder. The dog has settled at my feet, more out of comfort than any sort of alarm. We are all at peace tonight.
I was a little worried. We are in the midst of a move, and we’re in temporary quarters. We had a 1,765 square foot, four-bedroom house that we sold. We’re moving into a 2,200 square foot, four-bedroom house, but it’s not ready yet. Right now we’re in a space that is about 750 square feet and has two bedrooms. Oh, and it was completely full when we got here.
There is not a single empty drawer or even two inches of closet space available in this house. There is no room in the medicine cabinet, the kitchen cupboards, or even on the counters. We have items in suitcases on the floor, items stashed under the one bed, and items under the kitchen table. We have a laundry hamper in the living room, next to a filing cabinet, behind the couch. You might say it’s a little cramped. Still, it’s a roof over our heads, and it’s rent-free at that. I can’t complain. I won’t complain. The air-conditioning works, there is a fridge and two functioning bathrooms, there’s a washer and dryer, and there’s a lovely swimming pool a short walk away. We’re set. Crowded, but set.
Tonight I’m feeling gratitude, not just that we have this place to stay, but that we are together. My son and my fiancé are the two most important people in my life, and the fact that they’re both snoring away on the couches just a few feet from where I’m writing makes me incredibly happy. They could have each retreated to their separate corners, but they didn’t. They could have been self-conscious about letting their guard down, but that wasn’t the case. They are both totally at home here, even amongst all the stuff that I feel is choking us. They aren’t craving solitude, they are embracing togetherness.
I was worried about the lack of space. I was worried that we would begin to get on each other’s nerves and argue, but that hasn’t happened. We’ve adjusted. They’ve adjusted, and they’ve taught me that I can adjust too.
BulgingButtons 