This picture has always felt like an accurate reflection of my childhood…possibly my young adult years as well. Let’s start this story from the beginning. In this picture I was 4 years old. I was in junior kindergarten. I attended D’Arcy McGee Elementary School, in Toronto. I was only at this school for one year before we moved north of the city. It was Halloween and I was the only student in class without a costume. My very attentive and caring teacher, Mrs. Keith, whisked me into the adjacent stock room (do you remember the wonders and joy of a fully stocked walk-in closet, attached to every other classroom, completely full of all sorts of art supplies, school supplies, and lined paper books to write in…a moment of silence for the stock rooms of the ’80’s!). I saw panic in her eyes as she repeatedly mumbled something about a costume. She tied, what appears to be, burlap around my shoulders and a scarf around my head. “You will be an old lady today” she said proudly. Before she gleefully introduced me to the class she added one final touch, a bit of rouge on my cheeks that she quickly grabbed from her purse before the big reveal. The children laughed and clapped as I took my seat on the carpet. I didn’t know how to feel in the moment. Maybe a bit embarrassed at first, but the feeling of belonging quickly eclipsed that embarrassing feeling. I never forgot that moment. The ‘princess’ standing next to me in the picture was my ‘best friend’ at the time. I only felt the poverty of my costume standing next to her because she continuously told me throughout the day that I didn’t really have a costume, and that it was just two pieces of cloth. So the story goes…a common theme throughout my life. Never quite getting it right in order to fit in. I always felt like the ugly duckling. Yes, my immigrant parents soon learned the customs of Halloween, and I never again went to school without a costume, but it was never the ‘right’ one. My clothes were never name brand or in abundance, but my ‘best friend’ throughout the years was always pretty in pink, so to speak.
In high school, I learned to embrace my off beat, not quite right, clothes. It was the grunge years, so this made it easier to look passable in oversized drabby clothing. Kurt Cobain had just committed suicide, which perfectly set the mood for this decade. My lips were soon outlined in black lip liner, and filled in with a ruby red lipstick every day. I often paired my oversized white uniform blouse with a retro sweater that I ‘borrowed’ from my father’s closet (never to return again because I wore those sweaters to shreds). My kilt was way above the mandatory knee length, and my face was in a permanent scowl. I certainly was not the prettiest or the most popular (which all too often go hand in hand), but I was known to speak my mind during class discussions. I certainly did not shy away from a good, robust debate in any class (one of my nicknames was PCG which stands for ‘Politically Correct Gilda’…it still makes me smile inside). I was not the smartest either. Growing up with two exceptional human beings, my sisters, who came home with perfect straight A report cards, had its challenges. I had mostly A’s, with the occasional B’s, which one day my parents asked if that meant ‘bad’ because they never saw any B’s on report cards before (God bless their innocent souls). A high school English teacher once marked an essay I had written, and as he handed it back to me he said, “you are certainly not like your older sister”. Similarly, in gym class the teacher once remarked, “you are certainly not like your younger sister”. They were both perfectly correct. I was not as brilliant as either one of them, or as coordinated and successful in organized sports as my younger sister. I had to work hard for my A’s and I’ve learned to embrace physical activity in adulthood (I still would never join organized sporting activities). My younger sister became valedictorian of not only her high school class, but of her graduating university class as well. They both were rewarded with countless trophies by the time they graduated high school, and are now incredibly successful in their respective careers. Not to mention, they have also become admirable parents. I could not be more proud of each of them!
Then there is me. I consider myself an introvert, whom as an adult has learned to enjoy the company of others, even crave it. Large gatherings can still stir up anxious feelings, namely because I tend to ‘feel the room’ like an unwanted wave of emotion. Therefore, I connect better in smaller groups, or one-on-one, for this very reason. Emotions seem to be a guiding principle for me in life. Connecting in social gatherings is overwhelming because I cannot turn off the sense of duty to take care of others emotionally. You can call it being overly sensitive, but that makes it sound like a weakness. It is not a weakness but a strength I’ve come to hone in on. Although large gatherings still evoke anxiety, I have learned to embrace my sensitivities, to connect in ways most do not. A personality test years ago revealed that my ‘type’ is found in less than 10% of the population. I do not think I am such a rarity. I have found that yearning to connect is innate. We all have a need to belong somewhere. That little girl dressed as an old lady in the picture is no different than most adults today. She recognized her differences but found it easy to belong, with the help of kind and welcoming people, eager to ensure she was not left out. There will always be someone to point out why we are not quite right, but I’ve learned that is their issue to resolve. I may never be a pretty princess in pink with a perfectly placed tiara, but I am the queen of my castle now, and that suits me just fine.
Thoughts At F___ It Forties 