10 Things You Probably Don’t Know Or Realize About Me
And Don’t Really Want to Know Either
So, I was struggling for a topic tonight. I’m a writer, but I have written so much because of my ed courses that I almost want to throw my laptop… and my cell… and everything in between.
So, thanks to Harper Thorpe, who tagged me (Harper Thorpe: do you realize you tagged most of the poets?!?)… I now have a topic for tonight (and you just get to ride along with glazed eyes).
Sorry, no pics…
#10: My Favorite Outfit
Alright, so maybe this is a no-brainer from all the country girl stuff I write.
I would live in jeans and a t-shirt every day, all day. Unfortunately, most of the real world would not consider that a real outfit.
If I must wear shoes, it’s sandals in summer and boots in winter.
#9: Why Teaching Wasn’t My First Choice
I was a teacher’s kid in a small town. I saw the games that were played by administration, current and former students, and parents of students. I couldn’t separate how people reacted and behaved from who I was and who I would be.
#8: First Real Boyfriend Not a Christian
Beyond a 24-hour jaunt with a blue-collar guy my freshman year (we figured out I was still jail bait at the time he dumped me… okay, he figured it out… It took me becoming a mother to figure it out), my first real boyfriend was a pagan.
I still can’t figure out how it happened. I started hanging out with a group of non-Christians. Around the same time, the one Christian I respected refused to go to a non-Christian gathering to help me understand things. So I started spending more time with non-Christians. (The non-sexual sexual assault also played a role, but I digress.)
I’d gone out with someone in our group in October and called it off because that someone wasn’t a Christian. (Yes, my protestant friends razzled and dazzled me with equal and unequal yoking, a most interesting and realistic concept).
I kept hanging out with the group. Somehow, I just fell in the guy’s lap and we spent time together. By December, we were an item. By January, we broke up. But he was wild and free and taught me more things than most Christians could have — loving myself, respecting my boundaries, expecting my boundaries to be respected.
#7: Comprehensives
In order to get out of undergrad with my degree, I had to take a test on all four years of my subject matter. I had the misery to be in the only department that still gave its own test on all that was covered.
I was great with general chem, quantitative, physical chem, biochem… everything but organic. I barely squeaked with a C, which is like almost failing. That… and I just didn’t have a good feeling for the way my organic prof acted. He knew his shit, but he acted sometimes around women like his shit didn’t stink and theirs always did.
So I took a course to refresh my ability to read graphic outputs from various pieces of lab equipment and reviewed my notes. I went through a mad dash of rewriting key equations that I never learned to try to get just enough organic in.
I passed… by the skin of my teeth… through the prayers of my friends and God’s grace…
The prof couldn’t drop it. I was sitting with some other women from the program in our lounge. We were all waiting nervously. One he pointed to and shook his head… she didn’t make it. One he pointed to and nodded… she passed.
He looked at me. I will never forget. He shook his head and rubbed his balding skull in disbelief.
“You… I didn’t think you were going to make it. It was right on the edge all the way to the end. You pulled it out on those charts.”
I think this was the only time in my career where I smarted off and didn’t hang my head and run.
“Good. That’s what I intended. That’s why I took that spectroscopy course in the first place.”
His jaw dropped and he walked away.
#6: I Read Sheet Music
I took lessons for a while on piano and cornet. I could also do bass keyboard and mallet percussion. The Lyme destroyed my speed and I gave up.
I can still read sheet music. And I have a friend who sings in a coffee shop — I secretly hope someday he’ll let me try joining him on the stage.
#5: Seasons
I hate winter, late fall, and early spring. Too cold, too damp, not enough sun… Of course, you might have been able to surmise that from my writing.
And now for something completely different: I like Seasons in the Sun by Terry Jacks.
#4: No Veil at My (First) Wedding (of Doom)
I chose despite getting married in a Catholic church that I would not wear a veil. I hated veils. I actually wore a flower wreath with ribbon streamers that was similar to something I had seen at a Renaissance performance.
Maybe there was a deep psychological thing. I was already hiding so many things from myself and trying to trick myself into thinking my friends didn’t know the things I was hiding. Maybe the veil was another way to hide even more and it was too much.
Or maybe my father was right… I was a rebellious apostate. (Still technically apostate, but no longer rebellious… creative in avoiding some norms and rules…)
#3: Inappropriate Topics
I was in junior high when I started to explore writing. I focused mostly on fiction and poetry. I gave it up because my father convinced me I’d never earn my keep with it. In a way, he was right; there’s not much money. In another way, it should have encouraged as both creative outlet and means of exploring deep social issues.
I think secretly he had ulterior motives. My stories weren’t exactly what you would expect from an all-American girl raised by an ultra-orthodox family:
- Falling for a rapist (not liked by my social studies teacher for many reasons including historical inaccuracy and social inappropriateness)
- Being a young victim of domestic violence (my English teacher who also taught German didn’t know what to do with this one)
- Visiting someone in prison for blowing up a gas station with a cigarette (this was an A- with no comment)
So, yes, I did start early with pushing boundaries…
#2: My First Kiss with My Current Husband
It’s odd. We were both older, and he’s much older. We’d had two dates. We both freely admit that his intangible interior qualities far outweigh his exterior. So I wasn’t attracted to him in a fireworks and whistles and cold shower kind of way. I was more drawn to his quiet nature and emotional balance.
I had decided that I wanted to kiss him… well, to see if I could. I was used to the young stallions that go for that kiss rather early, so I was afraid he was too old school and he’d never try. Actually, I was really afraid he believed in Duggar style chastity.
I actually asked my mom for advice since he was closer to her age. She got a funny look on her face. I think she wanted to snort and laugh but retained all dignity.
She told me to just hold his hand, lean in, and try. The worst he could do was dump me out of offense.
So we went for our third date to a restaurant. We got what we wanted — for as much as he hates green things, he loves brussel sprouts… which he had.
After dinner, he grabbed my hand and walked me to my car… slowly. He leaned back against his car which was on the way, and he just looked into my eyes. It just felt… right.
He made the first move! (But I still don’t like brussel sprouts…)
#1: My First Kiss Ever
It didn’t come from anyone in my hometown.
I’d gone to a county music event where the other county public schools and a private military school had sent representatives. I was always curious about the uniforms, so I guess I looked the wrong direction.
One of the kids walked up and started to talk to me. Then he asked me to a formal at the military school.
I was ecstatic. As much as I hated prom and formal dances, I loved the idea of dolling up in a fancy dress (just once in a while). (Yeah, the popularity issue was probably also part of why I hated prom. I just wasn’t, and I was never going to be.)
So my mom dolled me up. My dad dropped me off. It was mostly old 50s and 60s music. I loved it, but the guy wasn’t too into it. So he asked if I’d walk with him.
We left the old mansion house where the dance was. He walked me toward the dorm area with no lights and grabbed my hand. I sort of knew something was up.
There was cultural music, probably from Haiti or the Dominican Republic. He tried to get me to learn the lambada. I just wasn’t that comfortable with my body.
Somehow, along the way, we ended up kissing… not the gentle peck on the forehead. Eventually, we gave up and went back to the dance.
I never heard from him after that. (Well, after he returned the earring I lost — it was my gram’s, large, not gawdy but not easy to miss). Think he wanted a bit more…
Oh, did I mention he was mulatto…
So, 10 tags at random:
