Wednesday – Small Crimes and Small Minds
Mar. 4th, 2009 03:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermore.
.
.
Part of my little boy's therapy right now if for me to tell him at the end of each day which of his actions made me proud, and which disappointed me.
When you are a child, you hate to disappoint your parents. Even as a teenager, I found being grounded a far softer punishment than having my father look at me sadly and say, "I am very disappointed in you." I could gripe and feel indignant about being grounded. His disappointment cut to the bone though, and made me feel as tiny as one of the thimbles or little bobbins of thread in my mother's sewing supplies. Please, anything but disappointment.
One memory of my mother's disappointment still haunts me.
I was 14 years old and it was in the last year of my mother's life, but I didn't know that yet. My family was very active in our Methodist church and I was active in the youth group, where I hung out with a little clique of friends. I wasn't the clique leader; that was probably my friend Macy. I would say we were the middle clique in our youth group. There was an upper clique of kids who were popular in school, us, the clique of kids that were less popular than us, and then the outcast kids.
Among the girls, the outcasts were Ashley and Laura Mae. It would have been convenient if they liked each other and had formed their own little outcast clique, but they couldn't stand each other. My problem, as I saw it, was that they both liked me.
Laura Mae was our age, but from the time she was little she looked like an old woman. While I can't say there was anything wrong with her physically, she was small and strangly old looking. Her sense of fashion (or lack thereof) didn't help: she wore big owl-like glasses and her hair was curly and short, in the style that middle aged women favored at the time. Macy called her "Monkey Mae" behind her back, because of her wizened features and her big eyes gave her an almost simian look.
Ashley did have physical problems. Her short, webbed neck and unusual facial features leads me to believe that she has what is called Noonan Syndrome. Her face was lopsided, like a wax figurine that someone had set next to a candle. Her ears were small and low set, practically resting on her neck. Her movements were spastic and jerky.
Neither girl was retarded, which would have earned them a cursory pity from their peers, only unattractive and awkward. A jury of teenagers will never acquit for the crimes of being unattractive and awkward; they are the worst things an adolescent girl can be. They were also clingy and needy, since both came from households with alcoholic parents and they didn't get the extra TLC such kids need to thrive from their drunk parents at home. Instead they sought it from their peers, which made kids reluctant to show them kindness since being nice to either of them made her stick to you like a barnacle. They were both starved for love and acceptance.
On my own when my friends weren't around, I acted friendly toward Ashley and Laura Mae and was willing hanging out with them. Even when my friends were around I wasn't cruel to them; I simply tried to hide behind my other girlfriends until Ashley and Laura Mae went away. This didn't bother them even when they saw me hiding. In their experience, mean people made fun of them and nice people hid from them. They kind of expected it.
The day I disappointed my mother, she was driving a group of us in the car to some church function. She didn't feel well, as she was undergoing intense chemo and radiation therapy. Her bald head was covered in a scarf that day, because she wasn't feeling up to wearing a wig since they can be hot and uncomfortable.
One of the girls in my group began making fun of Ashley, who wasn't there. My friend sank her head into her shoulders, twisted her face in an impersonation of Ashley's features, and made spastic jerks like Ashley made. My friends laughed, and I laughed with them.
This was a big mistake. My mother hit the roof.
"Stop it!" she hissed, "All of you, stop it right now! I'm ashamed of you girls. How dare you!" She was speaking though clinched teeth and tears were running down her cheeks. My mother was one of those women who cried when she was angry, and she was furious.
"Nina, I expected better from you. You, of all people, should know better."
When my friend was making fun of Ashley, I hadn't thought about my mother's own birth defect. She was born without a right hand, and when the doctor saw her he did not tell my grandparents whether they had a daughter or a son. Instead he said, My God, it's a monster. Her sex was not as important as the fact that she was deformed.
"When I was a little girl," my mother said, "they used to follow me to school and make fun of me. They used to call me names and throw things at me. I am not going to tolerate listing you talk about Ashley like that! How dare you! Has any one of you ever thought about what its like to be her? Have you?"
She glanced sideways at me, sitting in the front passenger seat. "I'm disappointed in you."
My friends all looked at each other. None of us spoke a word for the rest of the ride, besides a few mumbled apologies to my mom. My own emotions were mixed. I was as mortified as any teenager would be at being berated in front of my friends. I was ashamed of myself, but also embarrassed that my mother had yelled at my friends.
Most of all, I was stunned and horrified to learn that kids had been cruel to my mom when she was growing up. She'd never mentioned this before, and she never would again. My mother always seemed so capable, so humorous about her disability, so extroverted and at ease with everyone. As far as I knew, she'd never met a stranger. It was news to me that she'd been treated as a stranger while growing up in her own home town. Even worse was her implication was that I behaved no better than the children who had tormented her all those years before.
************************************
My father ran into Ashley a few years ago when my aunt was in the hospital. Ashley was working as a nurse. She asked my dad about me, and told him to tell me hi. She gave him her phone number to pass along to me, but because of my phone phobia I never did. She was married and had a career, so it sounded like she was doing well. I was glad to hear it.
As an adult I worry more about disappointing myself than I do anyone else. Still, I never disappoint myself to the point that I feel like I did that way in the car sitting next to my mother: as small as thimble or a bobbin of thread in her sewing kit, and not near as useful. Instead of standing up for the person who wasn't there to stand up for herself, I laughed went along with my friend who mocked her. In doing so, my mother let me know I was laughing at her, too. She let me know how small I was being.
I was a child then, and children are often small in more ways than the obvious. Learning not to act and think small is as much a part of growing up as physical growth is.
I’m bigger now, and do my best to act like it. I hope she is not disappointed in me anymore.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
.
.
Part of my little boy's therapy right now if for me to tell him at the end of each day which of his actions made me proud, and which disappointed me.
When you are a child, you hate to disappoint your parents. Even as a teenager, I found being grounded a far softer punishment than having my father look at me sadly and say, "I am very disappointed in you." I could gripe and feel indignant about being grounded. His disappointment cut to the bone though, and made me feel as tiny as one of the thimbles or little bobbins of thread in my mother's sewing supplies. Please, anything but disappointment.
One memory of my mother's disappointment still haunts me.
I was 14 years old and it was in the last year of my mother's life, but I didn't know that yet. My family was very active in our Methodist church and I was active in the youth group, where I hung out with a little clique of friends. I wasn't the clique leader; that was probably my friend Macy. I would say we were the middle clique in our youth group. There was an upper clique of kids who were popular in school, us, the clique of kids that were less popular than us, and then the outcast kids.
Among the girls, the outcasts were Ashley and Laura Mae. It would have been convenient if they liked each other and had formed their own little outcast clique, but they couldn't stand each other. My problem, as I saw it, was that they both liked me.
Laura Mae was our age, but from the time she was little she looked like an old woman. While I can't say there was anything wrong with her physically, she was small and strangly old looking. Her sense of fashion (or lack thereof) didn't help: she wore big owl-like glasses and her hair was curly and short, in the style that middle aged women favored at the time. Macy called her "Monkey Mae" behind her back, because of her wizened features and her big eyes gave her an almost simian look.
Ashley did have physical problems. Her short, webbed neck and unusual facial features leads me to believe that she has what is called Noonan Syndrome. Her face was lopsided, like a wax figurine that someone had set next to a candle. Her ears were small and low set, practically resting on her neck. Her movements were spastic and jerky.
Neither girl was retarded, which would have earned them a cursory pity from their peers, only unattractive and awkward. A jury of teenagers will never acquit for the crimes of being unattractive and awkward; they are the worst things an adolescent girl can be. They were also clingy and needy, since both came from households with alcoholic parents and they didn't get the extra TLC such kids need to thrive from their drunk parents at home. Instead they sought it from their peers, which made kids reluctant to show them kindness since being nice to either of them made her stick to you like a barnacle. They were both starved for love and acceptance.
On my own when my friends weren't around, I acted friendly toward Ashley and Laura Mae and was willing hanging out with them. Even when my friends were around I wasn't cruel to them; I simply tried to hide behind my other girlfriends until Ashley and Laura Mae went away. This didn't bother them even when they saw me hiding. In their experience, mean people made fun of them and nice people hid from them. They kind of expected it.
The day I disappointed my mother, she was driving a group of us in the car to some church function. She didn't feel well, as she was undergoing intense chemo and radiation therapy. Her bald head was covered in a scarf that day, because she wasn't feeling up to wearing a wig since they can be hot and uncomfortable.
One of the girls in my group began making fun of Ashley, who wasn't there. My friend sank her head into her shoulders, twisted her face in an impersonation of Ashley's features, and made spastic jerks like Ashley made. My friends laughed, and I laughed with them.
This was a big mistake. My mother hit the roof.
"Stop it!" she hissed, "All of you, stop it right now! I'm ashamed of you girls. How dare you!" She was speaking though clinched teeth and tears were running down her cheeks. My mother was one of those women who cried when she was angry, and she was furious.
"Nina, I expected better from you. You, of all people, should know better."
When my friend was making fun of Ashley, I hadn't thought about my mother's own birth defect. She was born without a right hand, and when the doctor saw her he did not tell my grandparents whether they had a daughter or a son. Instead he said, My God, it's a monster. Her sex was not as important as the fact that she was deformed.
"When I was a little girl," my mother said, "they used to follow me to school and make fun of me. They used to call me names and throw things at me. I am not going to tolerate listing you talk about Ashley like that! How dare you! Has any one of you ever thought about what its like to be her? Have you?"
She glanced sideways at me, sitting in the front passenger seat. "I'm disappointed in you."
My friends all looked at each other. None of us spoke a word for the rest of the ride, besides a few mumbled apologies to my mom. My own emotions were mixed. I was as mortified as any teenager would be at being berated in front of my friends. I was ashamed of myself, but also embarrassed that my mother had yelled at my friends.
Most of all, I was stunned and horrified to learn that kids had been cruel to my mom when she was growing up. She'd never mentioned this before, and she never would again. My mother always seemed so capable, so humorous about her disability, so extroverted and at ease with everyone. As far as I knew, she'd never met a stranger. It was news to me that she'd been treated as a stranger while growing up in her own home town. Even worse was her implication was that I behaved no better than the children who had tormented her all those years before.
My father ran into Ashley a few years ago when my aunt was in the hospital. Ashley was working as a nurse. She asked my dad about me, and told him to tell me hi. She gave him her phone number to pass along to me, but because of my phone phobia I never did. She was married and had a career, so it sounded like she was doing well. I was glad to hear it.
As an adult I worry more about disappointing myself than I do anyone else. Still, I never disappoint myself to the point that I feel like I did that way in the car sitting next to my mother: as small as thimble or a bobbin of thread in her sewing kit, and not near as useful. Instead of standing up for the person who wasn't there to stand up for herself, I laughed went along with my friend who mocked her. In doing so, my mother let me know I was laughing at her, too. She let me know how small I was being.
I was a child then, and children are often small in more ways than the obvious. Learning not to act and think small is as much a part of growing up as physical growth is.
I’m bigger now, and do my best to act like it. I hope she is not disappointed in me anymore.
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no subject
Date: 2009-03-04 09:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-05 03:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-04 09:46 pm (UTC)Damn.Good.Parenting......she did well.
For the record, I might have pulled over and made you guys walk.
no subject
Date: 2009-03-04 10:20 pm (UTC)I am sure you miss her terribly, sounds like she was an amazing woman and I know she would have loved her grandson. I'm sorry you lost her and when you did...that must have been so difficult.
I know the feeling you write about though, I disappoint my parents SO often and it hurts to know that, even when I think I made the right choice.
As always, I enjoy your writing,thanks for updating so often!
no subject
Date: 2009-03-05 03:10 pm (UTC)It's strange to appreciate her as an adult, when all of my memories of her are seen through the lens of a child's vision. After all this time I still miss her.
no subject
Date: 2009-03-04 10:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-04 10:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-05 03:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-05 12:05 am (UTC)I can't offer absolution, but I remember abandoning my best friend in 8th grade, when a door opened up for me to escape the "outcast" niche.
What is important to us as kids is often the opposite of what we believe as adults.
I am sure Ashley and Laura Mae have fond memories of you. Better than the way Mario remembers me, no doubt. But he too, turned out "o.k."
no subject
Date: 2009-03-05 03:16 pm (UTC)It was a learning moment, that's all.
Both Laura and Ashley trusted me and confided in me, and I didn't mock them or betray them like other people did. I was, however, straddling the line between outcast and accepted class, and I wanted to fit in so bad in the way that 14 year olds do. I don't think either of them hate me.
Small Crimes
Date: 2009-03-05 12:53 am (UTC)Re: Small Crimes
Date: 2009-03-05 03:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-05 03:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-05 03:20 pm (UTC)The old adage they taught us as kids got it wrong. The truth is: sticks and stones can break your bones, but words can break your heart. Sticks and stones can be preferable, I think. At least you could press assault charges!
no subject
Date: 2009-03-05 06:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-05 03:22 pm (UTC)Remembering her and writing it down is kind of the only way I have to have conversations with her and keep her alive. :)
no subject
Date: 2009-03-05 02:04 pm (UTC)Funny how kids never put themselves into other people's shoes. Even I, who always got made fun of for my looks, didn't always stop to think of how someone "lesser" than me felt when I or my friends said stuff behind their back.
no subject
Date: 2009-03-05 03:23 pm (UTC)*hugs Dawn back*
no subject
Date: 2009-03-05 03:36 pm (UTC)Your mother was amazing -- I am glad you shared her with us.
I know that she is proud of you today.
no subject
Date: 2009-03-05 09:17 pm (UTC)I think all good moms are probably amazing in their own ways, and I had a good one.
no subject
Date: 2009-03-06 01:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-06 03:36 pm (UTC)You just can't argue with the laws of mathematics, or avoid them.
On the other hand, another mathematical truth is: Wisdom = Ignorance + Experience (Insight). This explains why we tend to get smarkter with age. :)