The Awkward Stage
By sixth grade, everyone knew I was an actress. I loved doing dramatic readings and being on stage. But not everyone realized I was acting every day of my life. I was acting happy. I was not. It's never easy to be who you are when everyone else says it's wrong. People hate what they fear; and people fear unique. Some, however, look at the person who is unique and desperately wish they could be like them. This is, apparently, the theme of my life and why I am actually writing a memoir. Perhaps some of the struggles I went through in my life will resonate with someone reading these words and encourage and inspire them to keep going. No matter how dark the tunnel, no matter how deep the well, there is always someone who understands--religious beliefs aside. As I was looking at a link someone sent me, I saw an image with the following words:
"The moment you realize your bones are made of the same dust as the planets, your lungs are breathing the same air as the migrating butterflies, and your blood is pumping because of the love and care of thousands: Is the moment you realize you are not as broken as you think you are. You are full of the world."
I was in a loving, Christian home. On the outside looking in, I had nothing for which to be depressed or upset. And yet, I knew something wasn't right. I threw myself into my books and my music. I was taking piano lessons because I wanted to be like my sister. I wasn't terrible, but I wasn't great, either. It was natural aptitude because I didn't like to practice. Practicing scales and fingering were boring. I didn't like boring. School was getting boring, too. I wasn't learning anything new, really. Sure, a few things here and there, but, nothing exciting. I would get super-focused on reading along during class and somehow, that got me into trouble (I was told to pay attention a few times). I wasn't a troublemaker (I hear my friends laughing, now. But, it's true! I wasn't a troublemaker...read on, I assure you, you will understand). I wasn't a troublemaker because troublemakers weren't well-liked by adults. Adults were my friends--my only friends. I didn't want to fit in with my peers. My peers, by this time, had shown me that I was nothing to them--that I'd never be like them. I just wanted someone to accept me. So, no, no troublemaking.
My 6th grade teacher was from Boston, MA and had the accent to prove it. Mr. Clarke was the first teacher I ever had who came to me to find out why I isolated myself. Even Steven played with the other kids from time to time. I didn't. If Steven was playing something else or reading or whatever during recess, I was by myself on the swings or sitting alone, daydreaming. When I told him the other kids didn't like me, he asked me why I thought that was. I don't think he was prepared for a pre-teen to say, "Because I'm smarter than everyone else and they're jealous." He blinked, then grinned and asked what I thought about that. I told him in no uncertain terms I thought it was stupid...that I wasn't smarter than everyone else. I was just me and I had the benefit of growing up with grown ups. I wasn't better than anyone! Yes, I was amazingly self-aware at 12. I don't remember the entire conversation, but I do remember Mr. Clarke telling me that I was a very special person and never to change. He conferenced with my parents; they considered holding me back. Mr. Clarke, however, told them it would be a very bad idea. I was advanced, intellectually, and needed to be challenged. My parents argued that I wasn't emotionally mature enough. Mr. Clarke told them he didn't care. He asked them if they wanted me to be average or successful. My parents chose successful.
My 6th grade year came to a close and I found the Mr. Clarke would be returning to Boston. I was sad. He was my friend. He was the first teacher to fight for me, instead of calling me a troublemaker. I was a good kid, I just didn't think bullying was appropriate. Go figure. Want to know a secret? It's not and I still feel very strongly about that. Any victim of bullying needs to know there is someone to whom they can speak and not receive answers such as, "Let roll off your back," or "make the joke before they do!" Neither of these are appropriate. If there isn't a hotline for dealing with bullies, maybe I'll create one. 1-800-HATE-NO1, maybe. We'll see. It was Mr. Clarke who quelled much of the incessant harassment I endured.
I began 7th grade with excitement and expectations of new revelations. I found that, yet again, it was a review of all my previous work. No one else had been reviewing; they were all at grade level. I was above grade level. Even my standardized tests showed that. I was above grade level in every single subject--even math! Again, it was a rough year. Mrs. Clark (no relation) was my long-anticipated science teacher. My brother had her for English and Science during his senior year and I had heard nothing but wonderful tales. Within three months of the start of the school year, Mrs. Clark fell ill. When I say she fell ill, I mean, she was out for the rest of the year. When she was in her 20s, she had been on a water skiing adventure. That adventure went very wrong when she ended up airborne and landed on a piece of wood that was sticking up out of the water. Did I say "landed on"? I meant "landed on a piece of wood, straddled." The limb, branch, whatever it was, went straight up through her body and stopped just shy of her heart, but pierced the lining. She was extremely susceptible to any and every illness out there--and yet, she chose to teach. She could never have children; her students were her kids. Her husband was younger than her and the two of them were an amazing pair. It was almost like watching Dame Maggie Smith interact with Patrick Stewart. Both were outrightly proper, but together? It was like Pinky & the Brain. I loved them very much and think the world of them. Which is also why when she was ill, I was disappointed to have a new science teacher, Mr. Burbank.
Mr. Burbank, however, ended up being another of those teachers who believed in me. He came to us from Alaska, and, two years later, that is where he returned. He taught our survey science class in 7th grade and our geological science class in 8th grade. He recognized that I was interested in science and knew I could pull better grades than I was. When he asked me what was wrong, I said, "I'm bored. I've done all this before."
He stared at me a moment and responded with his normal dryness, "Hm. Interesting. Let me think on that for a minute." He went to his desk and rummaged through papers and such, then came back over to me and gave me some worksheets. "Try these. If you can get them all right, I'll give you a candy bar." So I did. In fact, I did them right there. Achievement Unlocked: Candy Bar Obtained. "Why don't you do that in class? Was it the candy bar?"
"Nah, it's just silly to keep redoing everything."
"Well, how about I have you help me explain things?" My eyes lit up. No one had ever asked me to do that before. "If you do, you'll have to do your homework and read ahead to know what we'll be talking about tomorrow. Can you do that?"
"Sure!" I was special! I got to help a teacher with something I loved! I hadn't thought about the fact the other kids would resent me. I also hadn't realized that Mr. Burbank successfully talked me into doing more homework. Ah, the power of emotional appeal. After the first quarter of my 7th grade year, my grades soared. If I could help one teacher, maybe I could help them all! No such luck...and there were some teachers I thought were really wrong about things. Working with Mr. Burbank, though, taught me what was and wasn't appropriate to say--like when I called him a nerd the day he came to class with new glasses. Everyone else had called me that--I hadn't actually realized those words could hurt anyone who wasn't me. Mr. Burbank taught me a lot in the two years he stayed with us.
Middle school was uneventful, really. I was allowed to participate in the speech and singing competitions, so I did. My first performance was the entire 7.5 minute reading of Edgar Allan Poe's "The Raven," from memory, with proper inflection. But, I was over time, so I was eliminated from the competition with the condolence: "7th graders never go to States, anyway." That was fine, I knew what I wanted to do and I was going to pursue it relentlessly. I loved speech competitions. It was, after all, my second love (to science). Performance, in general, was my second love. In 8th grade, I entered the dramatic reading and the vocal solo competition. I did well enough on the solo, but not well enough to progress to States. I was going to states for my rendition of "The Little Match Girl." Again, it was from memory with inflections and I'd made the school cry. I received honorable mention at States.
I was 13 that year. My 8th grade year, I mean. At least, I was 13 by the time States came around. I'd had a fight with my parents regarding my practicing for piano lessons and how I just didn't seem interested. But, I loved music and I didn't want to give it up. After selecting the worst possible song for competition ("His Eye is On the Sparrow"), my parents stopped and thought about everything. Perhaps piano just wasn't my instrument and I'd progressed as far as I was going to...maybe, voice was more my thing. My sister was moving on to a new voice teacher named Roger Lentz. His wife at the time, Gwendolyn, was an opera singer with the New York Met. Both graduated from Eastman School of Music and Roger had been on faculty at Rochester School of Music. Roger, was and is still...a genius. My sister auditioned for Roger and he accepted her as a student without question. It was then my turn to audition for he and Gwen. I sang some song I no longer remember and Roger stopped playing as Gwen turned to their sheet music library saying, "Too low..." She selected a song and said, "Sing this..." I didn't know the song. Roger and Gwen both said, "I believe you can do it..." No one had said that to me regarding music, before... So, I did...and Gwen looked at Roger and he to her...and they smiled. "I can't wait to train you!" Gwen said.
Within 3 months, I was singing Italian arias. Gwen and I had some personality conflicts and she eventually stopped training me. Roger took me on, personally, because Roger still believed in me. To this day, I'm convinced he continues to believe in me, even though I haven't trained with him for over 10 years. I miss his weekly instruction and performing in his recitals. It was during my time with Roger and Gwen that I found something else I could do well: Sing. But, it was that very thing that I also learned would never be satisfactory for anyone else. Judges would always say things like, "Your outfit isn't appropriate," or "Your lipstick is too dark" or even criticize musical choices I made to create a piece as unique as myself. Nothing technically wrong, just not what they wanted to hear. Even Roger would be surprised by the judges' comments. It was a part of me, however, and the critiques were about the same as the kids telling me I was dumb, fat, and ugly. Still, I wanted to be loved and accepted. I knew I could sing and I wanted to be better. I'd always dreamed of being a performer and this was the best way to do it.
In 9th grade, I entered the speech and vocal competitions again. That year, I went to States on both levels. At this stage of my life, I forget what pieces I performed--it was my last year at the junior high level of competition. I just know that whatever I did, I received an "Excellent" award for speech (2nd place) and an honorable mention for singing. I grew a bit more confident in myself because students were coming to me for help with their speeches. For once, people respected something about me and weren't afraid to tell me.
The next year, there was another new teacher. That teacher changed the course of my life. Thus, this chapter closes and a new one begins...