The Nerd Within

I've been thinking a lot about my fear of putting myself "out there". It is strange. When people describe me, for the most part, they use adjectives like "confident" and "funny" and "smart". And I don't feel like any of those. I feel like I play at being those things - but I am not those things.

Now how is that? I have to consider the fact that if I "play" smart and funny and confident all the time, chances are, I am that. So why do I feel like such a "faker"?

In thinking this through, fifth grade flew into my brain and I had my answer. There is a really geeky girl that still lives inside. I can feel her now - Valri Jay Jackson, 5th grade, Mrs. Zahtilla's class. I remained a geek through Jr. High school (See actual un-retouched geek photo from 7th grade below.)

On the playground of Patterson Elementary, I began my tenure as a nerd. Nerds invariably begin their careers in P.E. class. I was always the last one to get picked for school sports. And while you've heard many people say that about themselves, what they don't tell you is that the humiliationisn't about being picked last. You can deal with that. It was the knowledge that when it came down to you and that one other tragically uncoordinated person, the captain who got to choose the lesser "loser" of the two of you always smiled triumphantly - the unspoken sentiment being: "At least I didn't get stuck with her!" Occasionally that smile was accompanied by the self-satisfied laugh of a real bully. Then as if the knife weren't deep enough, the remaining captain would always groan dramatically as if he had just lost a million dollars on a stupid bet. And you were left standing there with nothing to do in your own defense but smile like an idiot as if to say: "I'm glad I'm on your team" - as though you were oblivious to the fact that you were the very last person left and no choice could be made instead of you. All you really wished was that the P.E. teacher would just cut you a break and let you play hopscotch by yourself. Worse than that though, was when it was your turn to be captain, and every kid was screaming at the other captain to please take them. In the face of a mob of kids begging not to be paired with you, there is no idiot smile to cover the embarrassment. You can do nothing but apologize sheepishly to every kid you picked, as they throw you dirty looks for having ruined the game for them. I remember meeting those looks with the same repetitive phrase: "Its just a game." That mantra did not save me. Yes indeed, nerds are born - and broken - in P.E. class.

But it does not end there. (Uh-oh. I'm on a roll...)

I became a play yard pariah and let me tell you, if you can't make it at recess you are stuck being pals with yard duty. And once the kids see you chatting it up with yard duty staff, then its set in stone. You are a geek and you may as well be walking around with cat-eye glass frames held together by a bandaid at the nose bridge and braces with head gear. You are faced with having to carve out your own kind of nerd-ism. In my case, I became teacher's pet. I was the good student and good girl. There, with my knobby knees and unshaved legs and undershirt instead of training bra (which every other girl in the school got to wear), I stood straight and awkwardly tall for good citizenship awards, and spelling bee champions, for fine penmanship and raising hands for knowing the answer to every question the teacher asked in class. I stood for dressing like my mother told me to dress (like an idiot) and doing what I was told to do, even when I wasn't at home. I stood for hiding in the bathroom stalls and running to the teacher for protection. I stood for pixie haircuts and for panties showing on the monkey bars. I volunteered to help serve hot lunches so I wore a hair net and put milk cartons on trays and then scraped uneaten food off dirty trays all during lunch hour - for the sole purpose of keeping me occupied and off the playground for the longest free-period of the school day. And I made the mistake of telling my teacher that I looked up a new word in the dictionary everyday. There after, the teacher would use me as a shining example of industrious dedication to educating myself and would ask me daily to share my new word. My recitation of 5-syllable words and their definitions were met with snickers and rolling eyeballs. I seemed helpless to do anything to change my situation.

Once, for a science project on insects, I had to catch a bug and watch it for a week. I caught a spider and put it in a shoe box with holes in the lid. I decorated my shoe box colorfully and labeled it with pride: "My Incest Box". Upon discovery, my parents (with stifled laughs) made me make a new box and correct the spelling. I kept asking them what the word I accidentally misspelled meant. They wouldn't tell me. So when I got to school, seeing an opportunity to strike up a conversation, I asked a bunch of 6th graders what it meant and they made fun of me all week. I finally looked it up - and was still unclear of the meaning (as I'm sure the 6th graders were too), but the realization of my dorkiness stung as if that spider had crawled out of my "incest box" and bitten me.

And then there is the self torture of constantly comparing yourself to the most poplar girl in the school. I remember her SOOOOOOO well. She was cool and she stood up for herself and all the boys were crazy for her and all the girls wanted to be her best friend. When she was out with her family, she always walked 10 yards ahead of them. When she went out for Halloween, she dressed like herself and said she was going as "a hippie". And she had boobs. And she kissed boys. Her name was Linda. And she was my sister.

(Are you weeping for me yet?)

In 6th grade, I ran against a new kid for class president and won. (They like me! They reallylike me!! - uh, not so fast.) My new position didn't help my status and I remained unpopular and nerdy until mid 8th grade year. The last straw came when I was invited to the beach for this girl's birthday. Her name was Paulette. Once we were there, she said: "I invited you because you're not very popular and I'm not very popular so I thought we could be friends". I resolved at that moment that I was not going to be a geek anymore. I knew I was unpopular but I was not going to listen to someone else - sitting at the bottom of the barrel as I was - tell me I was unpopular. Paulette had clearly resigned herself to it. Not I! I did not become friends with Paulette. I moved on.

I pecked my way out of my ugly duckling shell and eventually emerged a swan of sorts - because I was fortunate to find something I loved and was really good at. Theatre. And the theatre department is nothing more than a group of former (or still evolving) nerds and misfits. Paradise. I became popular within my circle and ultimately in broader circles until I guess I became free to become who I wanted to become. And so, many years of a wonderful and blessed life later - here I am.

My years as a nerd (age 10 through 13) clearly still reside within me though, and sometimes hold me back a bit. The experience of walking so long outside the circle can sneak in without warning and get in the way of moving forward or taking risks or putting myself out there to do what I need and want to do. I'm fairly adept at overcoming the self doubt at this point of my life although each time I face it, I have to start from scratch.

I will say that on the positive side of things, my years of exile to "outcast land" in school made me very sensitive to the underdog. I can spot the inner panic of social insecurity a mile away. And whenever I saw it in my girls it caused me pain nearly beyond my ability to endure it. My darling Christine dealt with it all through school and I prayed like crazy for her. But knowing that pain also gave me the ability to say the right thing to her from time to time and I remember one evening in my bedroom, sharing my memory box with her and taking her through my painful years. She opened up and told me she wanted a friend too. We prayed together that God would send Christine a good friend. We bonded that night. (And by the way, God came through for her!) And when I pick Grace up from school, if I see a child (sometimes even Grace) standing on the outside of a circle peering in, I make a point of finding things to praise about that child in the presence of the others: "Oh my goodness, you look so beautiful today. You know, you could be a model. Have you ever thought of that?" or something as simple as "Every time I see you something inside me has to smile!" I don't know if I'm actually doing any favors - I hope I'm not adding to the trouble. But I am compelled.

Oh man, I've gone on a long time about this. But for all the many who walked in my shoes once upon a time, you know the experience is rich in drama and comedy, right? We never completely lose the memory of the pain and so we periodically have to go back and try to embrace it. The stuff that books and plays are made of. We'll call it "The Nerd Within".

Oh, can the Pulitzer be far away?