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How To Love That Kid You Always Hated – Yourself

How To Love That Kid You Always Hated – Yourself

By: Monica Wilcox

Most of my life I disliked you. Not because you were the geeky, obnoxious kid who took childish behavior to a new low. Not because you were the playground punk or the teacher’s pet. No, you were worse than those kids… you were forgettable.

You were the kind of kid teachers glanced over, the kid other kids ignore, a blur, a ghost. On a scale from one to ten, one being the kid everyone hates and ten being the grade school demigod, you were a five. No one remembers a five. They fade away to become the dust on everyone else’s history book. That was you; the one I abandoned.

Freakin’ fuzzbuckets, I still don’t know how you maintained such physical obscurity for so long. Knobby kneed, duck footed, gaped teeth, legally blind: I’ve seen tables with more shape. And with your utter lack of coordination, it’s a miracle the school district never wrote you a lifetime pass for physical education.

Of course your grades matched the rest of your brown paper package; B student. You were the “she’ll get by” child; too dumb to be challenged, too smart for the special classes. Out of the nine subjects covered in school you couldn’t find a single one, just one, to excel in. Take science. Just look where the science geeks have ended up. They spend their days on a tech company campus overlooking the Pacific Ocean, roller skating from meeting to meeting past walls of graffiti.  Look at Jason Crudamaker, the boy who sat at the end of the lunch table playing with the pet spiders he kept in his Star Wars lunch box.  He ended up discovering that spider webs are genetically coded. He’s a regular arachnid web design guru now. Then there’s Wally Wringdow, the kid who doodled his way through his education. The very one who created The Doodle Dude app last year; the fifth best selling app of all time.  Where were your pencils? Where were your spiders?

While everyone else was strutting mojo you were so-so. And your attitude was a perfect match for your appearance and mind; shy, introverted, and meek. On the Myers-Briggs Personality Test they’d have typed you as a BORE.

Yes, I disliked you, maybe even hated that 11-year-old girl I had to deal with each and every time I looked in the mirror.

But Not Now

Everyone has that picture of themselves they hate, the one that makes our eyes squint to tearing. Today I’m pulling that picture of you from the ashes. The school picture I methodically shredded, gassed and burned all those years ago is coming back into the light. Luckily, mom managed to hide one, just this one.  Even today, when I study your image, I have to ask, “What delusion possessed you, Monica, to step out of the house believing this look was worthy of photographic documentation?”

Today, I framed that very picture, in all your Plain Jane glory because, my dear, sweet, misunderstood child, I’ve been dishing out heaps of gratitude and love to everyone in my life… except you. You’re seriously overdue.

The truth is I could not love you more if you were my own daughter.

I Know Now

How extraordinarily brave you were. It takes some stone cold ovaries to leave the house everyday looking that unremarkable. I remember the hours you dedicated every morning trying to work your hair into a Farrah Fawcett feathering masterpiece, only to end up looking like a windblown alley hound. How you regrettably wore those homemade gunnysack dresses because you knew it would make your mom happy. I remember how you winked at your father through the heavy glasses morphing the bridge of your nose and smiled at the bus driver as your wax filled braces sliced your cheeks bloody. You knew your body was not born to sprint or climb a rope to the gym ceiling or to cartwheel across a 2 by 4… yet… you always tried… you bore through the insanity of it all. I love that about you.

I’m honoring this photo above all the others because I know now that this was the year your heart took bloom. Being the kid that was generally forgotten gave you an opportunity to observe the desperation of the kids who were not liked against the pressure of the kids who were. This is when you discovered that the class “fatsos” possessed some of the biggest hearts, that the “nerds” were helpless beneath the power of their constantly processing minds, that the “popular” kids were often driven to become defensive and emotionally isolated. This is when you really began to see the search for the inner beauty in others.

I love how you never fit into a click, how you learned to trust that each individual is good until proven otherwise. This particular year, the year you wore shadows, was your education in the power of the human heart. When I look back to see how much this knowledge has served you in your work, your relationships, and your very view of the world… so much more than dividing fractions ever has.  It’s unfortunate that your teacher never graded for “heart”. You’d have excelled. But then again, someone might have noticed and that would have changed everything.

The truth is I’m so thrilled you were a five. I’m so glad you were lost in the crowd, went unnoticed, lurked like a ghost because you are responsible for who I am today. You are my empathic heart, you are my ocean of love, my grit, my optimism, my writer’s observation, the physical shell of all my inner good.

I’m honoring you today because I’ve come to see that if I can not honor you, in all your silent glory, I will never be capable of honoring my own children. How can I appreciate my daughter’s sad attempt at French braiding when I have not honored your misuse of purple eye shadow? How can I admire my son marching into school in a Jelly Belly confectioner’s hat when I never appreciated you in your cowgirl boots and running shorts?  You, little 11-year-old Monica, were the first child in my life, the one I must love first if I’m ever going to fully love another.

Forgive me. It should not have taken this long.  Yes, you were overdue.

Monica Wilcox

www.femmetales.com

 

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26 comments

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1:50PM PDT on Jul 28, 2012

This is why I LOVE the Care2 community and blogging in general. Isn't it a wonderful gift that we can resonate with each other through a string of words?

It doesn't matter if we are a 1, a 5, or a 10. What is important is that we gain something positive from our experience that we can honor.

Thank you for all the encouraging, touching comments.

7:58AM PDT on Jul 18, 2012

Wonderful read(:

3:49AM PDT on Jul 18, 2012

I remember to honor and laugh whith 'Normita' rather than deny she exists.

10:04AM PDT on Jul 15, 2012

Beautiful writing. I'm so glad I read this.

10:04AM PDT on Jul 15, 2012

Beautiful writing. I'm so glad I read this.

11:12AM PDT on Jul 14, 2012

At my 50th high school reunion, it was fascinating to see how many of the so-called, 'nerdy' kids in school, had become some of the most attractive and successful people at our reuniting.

I DO realize that this is not much encouragement for our youth, who are going through this arduous time in their lives.

To Dorlinda C.: You are absolutely right. The grass is always 'greener on the other side of the fence'.......until you get there. If the harrassment is not too great, quite frequently, it will make you stronger, especially in females, who tend to internalize.

1:29AM PDT on Jul 14, 2012

wonderful! thank you ^,^

6:56AM PDT on Jul 13, 2012

Empower yourself

10:47PM PDT on Jul 12, 2012

I got rid of all my old photos when I retired to Mexico. With a travel limit of 2 suitcases...who needs "excess baggage" emotional or otherwise.
Years prior I burned my high school year book. I had moved with it from state to state taking with me all the memories of being a high school misfit. Then one day I realized why am I keeping a visual reminder of those crummy years the, smug cheer leaders and their little cliques? ( OMG college was SO much better!!)
Now at 65, we are probably all on equal terms= seniors and some of the aging process aint so pretty. At least I'm alive.

10:26PM PDT on Jul 12, 2012

Thanks for sharing this dear Monica. Your story made me cry and I felt pain in my heart. I want you to know that sharing stuff like this really helps others and make you think in some ways that you dont want to think , simply because it hurts 2 much.

Thanks again.
All my love///Anna, Sweden

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Disclaimer: The views expressed above are solely those of the author and may not reflect those of
Care2, Inc., its employees or advertisers.

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