Growing Up Is Hard To Do

“They say that breaking up is hard to do”, but I think that growing up is harder.

You do everything right, you follow the rules, you get into a good college, and you graduate…. and then life decides to stomp on you like a child playing with bubble wrap! There are so many bills to pay, and things that “grown-ups” do. Health Insurance, Car Insurance, Car Registration, Car Maintenance, all of which require money. But where does money come from? In college, we’re told that there are plenty of jobs out there. We are told that we are going to be successful. Well, a month out of college, I’m still unemployed and beginning to become a bit jaded.

I never wanted to stay in Kentucky, so I moved. I decided to take a chance and I moved across the country to a place where everyone rides bikes and recycles and there are mom and pop businesses everywhere. It doesn’t get too hott, and the winters are always white. Sounds like I am living the DREAM! However, with every dream, eventually you wake up. My real wake up call was when I found out that my teaching certificate is basically useless out here. I will have to take another series of tests in order to teach any of the classes that I was trained to teach. That was disappointing, to say the least. What’s been more disappointing is that I can’t even seem to find a simple part-time job. I don’t have any experience in the retail or food industry. I thought it would be a good idea to build my resume by working with kids. It turns out, that isn’t enough experience to work at a school. So, I really don’t have any experience in anything.

How can being grown up be this hard? How are you supposed to get ahead if no one will give you a job? Out of college, I don’t have enough experience even to be a waitress! What’s a girl to do?

Inferiority is Complex

Eleanor Roosevelt once said “No one can ever make you feel inferior without your consent”. That’s a lovely saying, but seems to me that it is also extremely inaccurate.

Obviously, ER’s words are great ones to live by. “No one can bring you down”, “Keep your head high”, “Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words will never hurt me”, ” I am rubber, you’re glue–“. These are all phrases we teach kids in the world today, but are those really words to live by? I recently had a conversation with someone who is normally very self-confident. He excels in the face of adversity. He shines in every competition or challenge that is laid in front of him. He is a very lovable, likeable person. But, sometimes, apparently that just isn’t enough. Sometimes, being the best will make people want to bring you down.  For a person who always overcomes adversity, this is not anything that is difficult to overcome. This is a normal occurrence, people always want to bring down those who are on top. But, after a while, hearing that you’re worthless becomes more difficult.

As children, we learn how to speak from hearing others talk. We learn how to do things, by watching and listening to others. So, when we hear constant belittling and demeaning remarks, it is difficult to not begin associating that with reality. No matter what the truth or untruth, hearing that you’re terrible at something eventually seeps into your mind and has the ability to spoil everything.

Some I’ve talked to say that this is an initiation. That these “other” people are testing the waters, to see how strong this man is. My question is WHY?. Isn’t it difficult enough to survive in this world without having to go through a rite of passage everytime you begin something new? As an educator, and recent college graduate, maybe I am naive and optimistic. But, I am of the opinion that you should encourage someone who is trying something new. Positive reinforcement has been proven to be more effective than negative! So, why do we constantly try to bring down, or put challenges in the way of those who are excelling?

Red Flower, Green Stem

Today in Senior Seminar we read a poem that upset me. It was not about life or death, per say, though I might argue that it was about both. The poem was called “The Little Boy” by Helen E. Buckley.  It is a narrative poem about a little boy who goes to school. His teacher, though perhaps good intentioned, trains her class to follow directions. They draw red flowers with green stems. Each student’s flower looks identical. Later when he transfers to another school, and he is allowed to express creativity– he has none. He draws a red flower with a green stem, exactly the way his teacher told him to. The poem is extremely long, so i didn’t copy it on here, but I found it online, so here’s where you can find it.

http://home.bresnan.net/~cabreras/theboy.htm

The red flower syndrome is not something that I ever experienced as a child. My inability to follow directions , or to even listen, was actually good for me, it seems. In kindergarden, when my parents came for an open house,  they couldn’t help but notice all of the Orange Jack’O’Lanterns on the wall. Each Jack’O’Lantern had triangle eyes, and a round nose, and the same jagged tooth smile. Except mine. I had drawn a black pumpkin with a white ghost coming out of the top. I swear my father almost peed himself. He thought something was wrong with his baby girl. He immediately rushed to my teacher and asked her about the pumpkin picture. She had nothing but good things to say about my amazing piece of artwork.

But since I started college, the red flower syndrome resurfaced. I learned long ago to feel out professors, to determine whether or not to express my own opinion or the opinion that they wanted to hear. This is a skill that I mastered. But, I’m not sure if it is something I should be proud of. I am merely regurgitating the opinion that I have been told. My papers look exactly like every other paper in the class. But, I have given in. I have accepted defeat.

My little sister, on the other hand, will never fall victim to the red flower syndrome. She has her own opinions and beliefs. She recently was giving a bad grade by a professor, because she wrote something that the professor didn’t agree with. However, it won’t stop her. She has a strong will. That’s something that I admire.

Select A Box

Select A Box

They ask me to write down my race

And I think very seriously

And consider writing down the truth

And have my answer read

I am not a box.

I can’t be boxed.

I have history.

I am the ancestor of Cowboys and Outlaws,

The Younger Brothers share my blood.

You can follow the family tree back to Andrew Jackson,

Best known for his role as US President.

But my Papa worked for the GBI,

He helped Georgia towns fix their “Black Problem”.

I am a blend of nationalities.

The red hair gives me away as Irish,

My ancestors were refugees from the Potato famine.

Emily means Hard working

It is French/ German/ Latin/ Teutonic.

Who knows where that came from?

Wilcox is English and means son of Will.

We have a cross stitch of my family’s crest.

But Baird is a strong Scottish name,

Last year I picked up a scarf with the Baird tartan

I wear it with pride every winter.

I come from many places.

Dad’s parents are strong southern Baptists from Georgia,

And my father followed closely in their footsteps,

Though he married a woman, who was a Marine, A catholic, and a Yankee.

Mom didn’t know her mother’s first name.

Grandma Baird was an alcoholic.

Mom was 1 of 7 children.

She was in and out of foster care, and other homes,

From Kansas to Minnesota,

Depending on how life was going.

I moved around a few times as a child:

2 homes in Georgia, 2 in North Carolina, and then Tennessee.

I am an individual.

I love Sushi and Hot wings equally.

I am intrigued by history,

And I really only enjoy fiction.

I am passionate about travel,

And trying brand new things.

I strive to be independent,

And to have a life of my own.

“So what box do I fit in?

Is there a box that encompasses every facet of my being.

If you insist on ‘boxing’ me, listen to my story.”

I want to say.

But I stop

And simply write down:

White

Footprints in My Life

Every day, people come into your life. Some walk out, leaving no impression behind them. Others will forever stay, or at least they will leave their footprints behind them.

I have many such people in my life. They have formed me, shaped me– me beliefs, my opinions, my self-confidence, my knowledge of everything I hold to be true. They have held me to higher standards than I hold myself to. They have never let me settle, and forced me to question. They have encouraged me when I feel that my life cannot get any worse. They have comforted me when my life really couldn’t get any worse. And congratulated me when it got better. They have been role models- no matter how young or old.

Though I don’t feel it appropriate to name all of these people, and I don’t know how plausible it would be to actually name these people, I hope that they read this and know who they are. My family- who as much as I like to whine about, are where I come from. They are my teachers from high school and college, who cared about me, and who made me think. My sorority sisters, who gave me courage and comfort, when no one else would. My camp friends, who know me more than almost anyone else in the world! The strong relationships that we built will never be forgotten, and I will always value the stressful, hot summer days, where we learned how to have fun in spite of everything. My campers– my girls. You will always be my girls. You gave me confidence, because you had confidence in me. You made me brave. You gave me direction, because of you, I want to be a teacher. I will always remember the fun times. My Ireland friends. We learned about a whole new world together. Ireland, yes, but also the world of independence. We had all the fun in the world those three weeks. I can’t wait to meet up with you in Colorado! And, the guys. Of course, I learned different lessons with each one. I have some memories that I will never let go of. But there is one, that is more than a footprint. I have hopes that he will be a constant presence. He has never let me settle, and always made me question. He has been my rock. He gives me confidence, and forces me to smile when I want to be pessimistic. A hopeless romantic, a positive influence, and a constant goof– the love of my life.

There are some people that walk right through your life, not even leaving an impression.

Others leave their footprints behind, influencing everything you do and say.

And others– they are a presence. Rather than influencing everything you do, they are right beside you saying “Let’s do it!”.

Where I Come From

I am graduating from college in less than a month. Recently i have found myself wondering where I am from, where my home is, and where I am going. It’s been rather difficult. I moved around a few times as a child. There were places where I never felt like I fit, and places I felt completely myself. Then last year with the break-up of my parents, the idea of home seemed more elusive than ever. Today in class, we read a poem by George Ella Lyon called “Where I’m From”. I recommend everyone take the time to look that up and read it. But, in turn, we each wrote our own poems. (I guess I’m in a very poetic state of mind with this class). So, here seems to be my answer about “Where I Come From”?

Where I Come From

I come from Lemonade stands,

from North Carolina Barbeque and Block Parties.

I am from tree climbing, the hole in the fence, and eating watermelon in my underwear

with sweet sicky juices running down my body.

I’m from Boxcar Children books,

Shel Silverstein and Louis Sacchar.

I’m from Disney VHS tapes watched a million times over,

David the Gnome, Grilled Cheese, and “Stories out of the Mouth.”

I am from a slap on the face and

“Kiss your sister and make up.”

I am from “Cattie” not Katie,

and the love/hate relationship that comes with sisterhood.

I am from backyard teap parties, dress-up games,

and rushing home to play maids in our white slips after church.

I still have the old diaries, where I was half committed,

so they’re barely written in,

old photo albums full of blurred pictures,

because my hand didn’t fit around the camera just yet.

But I still remember the moments.

I am from those moments–

smudged, scratched out, a little too dark, with a thumbprint in the corner–

but they are mine.

Grooveshark Widget: Chameleon

Music

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To All Those Who Teach:

I recently read the words of famous poet, Walt Whitman. He wrote a letter directed towards all poets, with directions on how to live life. His words spoke to me, but I couldn’t help but wonder what the letter would have said if directed towards a teacher. Though I would never attempt to correlate my own words with those of Walt Whitman, I wrote such a letter. I feel that in a few weeks or months or even years, I will be able to look back on this when I need inspiration. Or perhaps, I will be able to look back on it, and say, “I did that.”

This is what you shall do:

Teach for a purpose, and not for a test, no matter what those around you tell you. Worry about your students, not their grades. In the end, they are young people, not numbers. Respect your students, and act like a role model. In return they will respect and admire you. Know your students. Know their strengths, their weaknesses, their extracurriculars, and their home life. It makes them more real, and you, more compassionate. Make friends with your colleagues; teaching is not just a job, it’s a lifestyle. If you have no joy—it’s not worth it. Create joy inside the classroom as well. Embrace your own creativity and wild side. Try something new every once in a while, break outside the box. Share your experiences with your class, they will appreciate this more than you realize. Give positive feedback whenever possible, it is easy to break the spirit of a child. Laugh. Smile. You are not robot, you are a real person. It is alright to enjoy yourself. Keep your composure. Sometimes you will want to cry or scream; smiling is the best way to recover. Reflect on yourself and your experiences. It makes you a better person. In all of this, though, be careful. Today’s world is much different than the last century. There are dangers that we might never consider.

What’s your metaphor for life?

At the beginning of every senior seminar class, we read a poem. Today’s poems were about metaphors for life. I felt that one of them truly spoke to how I am feeling right now. It is about a father and daughter speaking about their outlooks on life.

the drum

daddy says the world is

a drum tight and hard

and i told him

i’m gonna beat

out my own rhythm

-nikki giovanni

The poem spoke to me, because I am used to people telling me that the world is harsh. I am used to people telling me what to do and the right way to live. And, I am used to living according to the rules. With few exceptions, I have been the good girl, always doing what is expected. I never stepped out or rebelled as many expected me to.

But now, I am a senior. I graduate exactly one month from today, and I want freedom. I feel the urge to do things that are unexpected, to carve my own path. I would rather go out and try something completely me, and fail miserably, than to go the safe route and end up miserable. For the first time in my life, I want to be completely wild.

After reading the drum, our professor asked us to give our own example of what out metaphor for life is. After reflecting and hearing other people’s opinions, I came to the conclusion that life is a river.

The River of Life

Life is like a river, ever flowing, ever changing.

It is funny that people sometimes try to dam these rivers up,

because you cannot harness that which does not want to be

Sometimes when the water flows too much, and the storms come–

the dam will break.

Sometimes the course of a river changes,

it goes in a completely different direction than it did many years ago.

While the changing can disrupt the natural order;

it can also create new life and plentiful growth

Sometimes eddies are formed,

whirling, tumultuous, and a bit stagnant

Life is a river,

because sometimes they just dry up.

Numb From My Head Down

Sometimes life comes at you like a big yellow bus.

Of course, I’m the kind of person who doesn’t always look both ways before crossing the street. So, things that I should see coming, often blindside me. You know what happens when you get hit by a bus? Some people cry. Some people walk away. Me– I go numb.

When there is no other appropriate reaction, I go numb.

This happened today. I was delivered news that I had been expecting for some time, but, at the same time, was completely and utterly surprised by. It was a big yellow bus. Because I should have been expecting it, it was difficult to comprehend that I hadn’t expected it at all. To get back to my analogy, I should have known better than to step into the middle of the road without looking. I’m too old to not expect for cars to hurdle at me when i least expect it. But now, I am confused. Should I be upset? Angry? Understanding?

What does one do in those situations? One person told me that accepting it was the first step. I assume that was their way of comforting me… it wasn’t very comforting. What did help was a friend of mine, who has been through a similar situation just sat and listened to me. She and I laughed, and talked about other things in our lives. Mostly, though, she just listened to me talk for about an hour. It really helped.

Of course, mostly what I wanted was to fall into someone’s arms and cry. I’m not even sure that crying is an
appropriate response, since I should have known about this for some time now. But, that’s how I deal with things. I cry. But, I found myself unable to cry, whether it was because I was in public or I was so confused over my feelings. I am a junior in college now. I still find myself unable to cry, though for some reason I want to. I mean, I am a junior in college now.

I already know that “things happen for a reason” and “Everything will turn out for the best”. So, while I really appreciate those comments, you probably wouldn’t say those things to a person who just got hit by a bus. Well, I guess imagine that on a metaphoric level. I am just numb, unable to really determine how I feel about the situation. I’m upset, but how can I be. I’m too old to feel upset. I’m surprised, but how can I be. This has been coming for a long time. How am I supposed to feel? How am I supposed to react? I just don’t know what to do. I guess getting hit by a big yellow bus tends to knock you off balance a little, but then again, I’m not sure how this is going to effect the rest of my journey.