The Middle Aged Woman Who Lived In a Shoe Goes To School --- Again

     

    Do you remember your first day of kindergarten?  Mine was a long time ago, but I remember that feeling, "What if no one likes me?" I do remember my first day of high school.  I was terrified, what if I wasn't wearing the right clothes?  What if the big kids picked on me?  What if I don't do well? What if What if WHAT IF.  These same old "What if's" plagued me before my first day of college.
    "I'm an adult damn it, so what if no one likes me!"  This is what I told myself as I drove to the college and found my parking spot.  Maybe if I told myself this enough times I would begin to believe it.  Let's be honest everyone wants to be liked, everyone has a desire to fit in.  I would use my old camouflage techniques that I had honed throughout my entire public and secondary school career.  I worked harder to not be seen than I did on my actual work.  If trying to be invisible had been a school subject I would have been on the honour roll.  I worked hard to be invisible, and yet my heart fractured a little bit each day when none of my teachers noticed my existence.  I wanted to blend in, but I wanted them to see me, in other words I wanted to be acknowledged, but not humiliated.

   If you were ask any of my former teachers what they thought of me as a student, I can make you a million dollar bet that not a single one of them would even remember that they taught me.  As I look back on this it is actually quite heartbreaking.  I tried desperately not to call attention to myself, I  think that in retrospect I didn't think I was good enough, not smart enough, so it was better to be unseen, and unseen I was.  As a student I was quite unremarkable.  In adult life I carry this memory of wanting to be unseen and I fight with it.  I very desperately want to stand out, and yet I fear negative repercussions (what if no-one likes me, maybe this is something we never truly outgrow).  I work hard to look like I have my Sh@t together, to look like an upstanding member of society, and yet inside is that little insecure kid desperately wanting to be seen and frantically fighting for invisibility.  I lock my car and begin that walk that feels like thousands of miles from my car to the school.  Out front are people handing out t-shirts and grab bags.  They hand them out to everyone but me.  I debate asking for one, but think do I really want one?  Is it worth it if I have to ask?  I am surrounded by a sea of young faces, children.  There is the odd older face, but I suspect that they are faculty.  I walk past the welcoming crew, arranging myself under my invisibility cloak.  The funniest thing is that I am an overweight, middle aged woman with a limp... the invisibility cloak exists in my mind alone.  I pull my shoulders back, find my room, find my chair.  I sit there willing myself to be invisible.  I give that sickly smile to everyone that I make eye contact with.  I'm ok I can do this.

   At one point in the day we are told to split off into pairs.  I feel panic setting in.  This will be just like public school.  I will be the last to be picked.  I will have to pair up with a teacher and look like the loser I am.  Quietly this tall, beautiful blonde woman glides beside me "want to partner up?".  This tall blonde goddess saved me.  I played it cool, reserved (at least that is what I tried to do.  It was too early to let my freak flag fly).  I exhaled, and only then realized that I had been holding my breath. I had told myself that I could do this on my own, I didn't need anyone, but it turns out I was wrong.  I am too social, I can't just stick to myself.  The next day we had an orientation.  I felt like I stood out like a sore thumb.  I was old, overweight, and awkward.  I felt like the main character in a 1980's nerd comedy, only not the "Revenge of the Nerds", where the nerds win, but one the ones where the nerds were the butt of the cool kids jokes, the ones where the nerd ended up wearing their underpants band as a hat.  I tried to stand up extra tall, extra proud.  Through the crowd I saw that beautiful angel from the day before.  We sat together in the sea of strangers.  Soon other "mature students" began to sit with us at our round table. I felt my shoulders release, my breath exhale... I could do this.  Gradually I began to let my guard down, ever so slowly (still too early to let my freak flag fly).  In the end I survived my first week.  Only one girl called me an old lady, and it wasn't to my face, and it was in a "I just met the nicest old lady".  At the time it stung a bit (like the Indian Rubs we gave to each other in public school.  It burned a little but left no lasting scars).  Now it makes me laugh, I am a nice old lady, well relatively nice and relatively old-ish.

So there you have it kids, part two in the history books, part three still to come.