Who are you again? or I am who I am.

You decide the title of this posting.

I had a rather difficult time deciding what to title this.  While I was mopping the floor today, I started thinking about some events that have happened over the last couple of days.  I do that from time to time.  It’s called reflection andwe all do it.  I rarely have conversations with myself, but when I do, sometimes it’s the most intelligent conversation I have all day.  My mother told me that once when I caught her talking to herself.  Unbeknownst to me, she was having a schizophrenic moment.  That was her response to me and I never forgot it.

About a week ago, I found a woman who I went to school with and attended church with.  She and I were both in the same graduating class and at church, we attended the same youth groups and youth choirs.  I found her on Facebook.  I then started looking at the people that she had befriended and requested friendships with those people as well.  Some accepted, others did not.  One person said to me, “I need more information.  I’m sorry, but your picture doesn’t give me a clue.”  IE  “Who are you again?”

So, I responded to him and told him who I was, who he may remember me as and so on and kind of giving a quick summary of my life, along with some people that I hung out with that may have helped jog his memory.  After the 2nd response from him, I couldn’t think of any more questions to ask, so I ended the conversation politely and moved on.  I asked my husband and our friend who was staying with us for a couple of days for help in trying to ask questions, except the only responses those two were willing to give me were snarky, sarcastic comments.

After that, my husband went off to bed and J and I stayed up and chatted for a few hours.  He asked me a question.  “What kind of person were you in high school?”  I didn’t (and still don’t) really have a good answer for that.  I was a strange child.  Always two steps to the side of everyone else.  I was just different.  I was in a couple of school bands, Job’s Daughters, swam on the swim team for a couple of years, was on the track team for one season and at the ripe old age of 16 +1 day, I started working.

I tended to do my best to get out of doing actual hard school work and used the fact that I had been in special ed classes for most of my education as an excuse to get out of doing work and it worked, too.  I had poor grades–barely passing.  D’s were not considered passing at home so if I did receive a D, my parents forced me to retake the class–IE summer school or give up an elective.  I did summer school a couple of times, but I actually liked summer school…as a matter of fact, I purposely flunked my World History class so that I COULD go to summer school.  I have a BA in History.  Ironic, eh?

With talking to J, he thinks that what most likely happened was I was bored in even the higher level classes and got by doing little to no work and still managing to graduate.

But it’s not just that, my parents kept my brother and I in daycare until I was 12 years old.  My brother and I were the oldest kids in daycare and the reason that we were there was because our parents didn’t trust us alone.  When both of my parents left on business trips, we had a babysitter at night–I was a senior in high school!

I was also a bit “creative” with the truth, if not all out lying.  In 2nd grade, several of the kids would say during “Show and Tell” that their mommy was having a baby.  And so, I concocted this same story and only 3 weeks later, did I come up in front of the class and say that my mom HAD a baby!  Then, I went to my 1st grade teacher and she said, “So, did your mom have a boy or a girl?”  I had been caught in my lie and I knew it.  I never went to see her again because I was so embarrassed.  I’m probably the only one who remembers that, but I do!

I never went out with the boys from my own high school because they knew me and didn’t really like me.  I looked strange, I never had popular clothes and frequently, I out-grew them within months.  I always had pants that were far too short and I was made fun because of that.  I still have a terrible time trying to get the right sized pants.  I have a 34″ inseam and often resort to wearing men’s Levi’s because they’re the only ones I can buy here in Germany, otherwise I have to order my pants online.  Sometimes I get free shipping, but generally, if I need a pair of pants, I need them NOW!

I was never a popular kid.  I did have a chance once.  Valerie was inviting me in to that group.  I was in 8th grade.  She found out that I was passing notes to Phyllis.  She told me that if I passed anymore notes to her, I wouldn’t be allowed to be her friend anymore.  I traded a note with Phyllis and she caught me in band class.  She told me I was out and I couldn’t be her friend anymore.  Phyllis and I have been friends ever since and I am her oldest daughter’s god-mother.  All of her children call me Auntie Amber.  Would the same been true if I had not chose to pass a note to Phyllis that day?  Would I still be friends with those girls?  I’m going to venture that, no, I wouldn’t.  Funny how some things work out, huh?

As an adult, I WAS one of those popular kids…erm…I mean adult.  I was friends with the woman that was extremely popular and friendly and outgoing…etc…I always wanted to be part of that crowd and I finally got to be.  Then, my friend T said, “Yes, you were part of that crowd, but you changed.  I didn’t like you when you were part of it.”  I was given a choice.  Be friends with T or be out.  I chose the other way and did not choose the hard right over the easy wrong.  When I became part of this group, apparently I had changed.  I didn’t see it at the time, but do know that I rarely, if ever, called T unless I needed something (I used her).  When things had fallen apart with the woman that was leading this crowd, I eventually came crawling back to T.  She had a forgiving heart and let bygones be bygones.  I am fortunate for that, too.  I explained to her that I had always wanted to be part of of that group and I realized that I had made a bad choice.  But I as I look back on it now, I really wasn’t a very nice person–which I have usually considered myself to be.

I hope that some of this is enlightening to you.  I just don’t think that any of this matters anymore…or does it?  I am the sum of all my experiences.

4 thoughts on “Who are you again? or I am who I am.

  1. I’m not quite sure which group I belong to either. I feel like Romy & Michelle when they were trying to figure out what group.

    I was not athletic or popular. Not a head-banger nor was I a partier. My group of friends and I were just that. A group of friends who didn’t “fit” in any particular group.

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  3. I think you named this just right. I don’t think we have to fit ourselves into a perfect box from high school, or even now. It sounds like you just were who you were. That’s a good thing.

  4. Krystal says:

    ” I rarely have conversations with myself, but when I do, sometimes it’s the most intelligent conversation I have all day. ”
    Best. Line. Ever!

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