The winds of change

Our school year is winding down and usually by now I am dreaming of swimming pools and lazy days without schedules. But this year instead of anticipating end of year parties and warm summer days I find myself clinging to the here and now. As I flit through the blogosphere reading stories of children and mommies anticipating their first year of preschool I smile for a moment because it sounds just like me. Except my youngest children started preschool almost four years ago, and instead of anticipating a world of finger paints and ABC's and tea parties with mommy I find myself staring with apprehension at middle school.

The problem isn't middle school itself. In fact, the problem is mine. I had a group of friends in sixth grade that was a mixture of kids with whom I had long-term relationships and new friends discovered as a result of the bigger middle school environment. As I look back I see that I was a geek. I took my school work seriously, I went to bed early every night with a book, I wasn't interested in boys or the latest hairstyles or fashion. You get the idea.

One day I joined my friends in the cafeteria. I unpacked my sack lunch and began to empty a packet of mustard onto my brown paper bag. I was planning to dunk my potato chips in the mustard like all the other girls did. I wasn't really a fan of the taste but lately I'd been getting the strange feeling that I was no longer part of the inner circle.

I still remember sitting there painstakingly emptying those mustard packets and opening my bag of chips. I looked up as I completed my preparations and noticed my friends were all looking at me. The smile on my face froze as I registered the somewhat detached looks on their faces. I knew there was a problem but I wasn't sure what. I noticed some of the girls could no longer maintain eye contact and realized that I'd found the problem. It was me. One of the girls cleared her voice and announced I was no longer part of "the group." They were forming a club, and everyone was not welcome. They didn't mean any harm and they hoped I'd understand. I sat there for a moment dumbly processing the fact that these girls, some of whom I had know since the first grade, didn't want me. I don't know how long I sat there scrambling with my emotions, but it was too long. The silence morphed from awkward to uneasy. The same girl who had delivered my verdict was offended by the fact that I continued to sit like an idiot with my mustard and chips spread before me, and she icily suggested that I leave the table. A table where more than half the seats were empty.

I took my lunch and left a trail of broken chips as I numbly found my way to an empty spot far away from any other students. About halfway through lunch someone from the "popular" group came over to ask why I was sitting in the corner by myself. I offered her the brightest smile I could muster and explained myself. The popular girl made a small scene by loudly reprimanding the girls. She wanted everyone to know how terribly they had behaved. I'm sure in her heart she was vindicating me, but in my heart it only made me feel pitiful.

I sat at that table, alone, for the next two months. And then we moved to a new city. A place where no one knew me. A place where no one would ever have to know the real me. The pitiful me. I changed the way I wore my hair. I changed my clothes. I stopped acting intelligent and adopted a silly and giggly demeanor. I altered my entire presentation to the outside world, and I suppose you could say I was successful.

I managed to live a life of my own creation. I also graduated from high school a year early so that I could release myself from the hell of living a life that was not real... A life that I had manufactured to avoid being hurt and humiliated by people I trusted.

In college I found the strength to be me, and to be confident. I made friends who genuinely liked me for myself.

And I healed.

But if you were ever to catch me in a moment of raw honesty I would probably tell you that there will always be a tiny piece of my heart that waits for it to happen again. Without a doubt, this particular afternoon in middle school set off a chain reaction that shaped my life for many years.

Up until this school year I hadn't given that day, or the years that followed, a lot of thought. But as the fall draws near I have trouble mustering enthusiasm. I can only hope that my child, my baby who can't possibly be beyond preschool, is stronger than I was. That I've shown her how to have the courage to believe in herself. To be herself.

I pray she fares better than I.