An affirmation of self

Earlier tonight I went to bed confident that I would fall fast asleep after three lovely glasses of wine and an exhausting week. But then the topic for this week's blog finally came to me, and I felt compelled to get up and write it. It's been one of those tough weeks, exhausting, and I ended it with a conversation with my mom on the phone and felt better about it all, but for sure I have been shook, surrounded by sickness, sadness, and lack of clarity about the future.

I am not going to tell you about my week, as it would sound a lot better than it actually was, or else I would have to exaggerate, in which case I would feel a victim to my own hubris. Instead, I am going to make this blog an affirmation of self, a confidence booster in the truest essence of self. And I am going to do it through a story that came to me just when I laid my head on the pillow (and made me get out of bed to write this blog).

In the seventh grade, I had the biggest crush on Anthony (can't even remember his last name). Everyone had a crush on Anthony. He hadn't the slightest interest in me whatsoever, and really, we were a total mismatch based on size alone - he was at least a foot shorter and two stone lighter (for Americans, two stone is 28 pounds).

There was another guy, David, whom some girls liked before Anthony came along, and he and Anthony became friends, though I'd guess David was jealous deep down. This may be going off the topic of the story, but not the blog itself (being an affirmation of self). I believe that David was jealous of me too, as it pissed him off that a girl was better than him in maths and in general boy subjects all together. He was smart, but not as smart as me, and it wasn't just that I worked hard, I was genuinely smarter, and it killed him.

One day I got this love note from Anthony saying how much he liked me and how he wanted to meet me in the school yard and talk about going steady. I was so excited, and admittedly confused, but I still sided with my innocence and went along with it - I met him in the school yard at the precise time and place he dictated in the note. When I got there, I knew immediately it was all wrong - most everyone in the class was there, laughing as I approached. It was a joke - David arranged it, Anthony agreed, and all participated at my expense. I was gutted, sad, but I held my head high, walked away, and made no mention until five years later.

A couple of months after this incident, we had Kris Kindle (each person in the class gets a name and brings in a present for that person). At the front of the class on Kris Kindle day, there was this huge box, enormous, the size of a box that contain a double oven. The box was addressed to me. Everyone looked at the box, bewildered, wondering what was in it, and many people, including myself, suspected something like the last practical joke.

I was petrified to open it.

But it was my turn.

I went to Catholic school and you did things in turn whether you wanted to or not.

Inside the box was at least a hundred dollars worth of quality stationary. There was paper, notebooks, pens, glue, staplers, crayons, markers, an entire box full of the best stuff that money could buy, a generosity that cannot be described. And I turned to my Kris Kindle, Paul Becker, whose father owned the main stationary store that supplied our school and he smiled at me this smile that I cannot explain. It was genuine, it was conviction, it was belief in self and the choice that he had made.

Paul was beautiful, so handsome, but I never fancied him beyond friendship. I seemed to prefer the 'grey' even in those days.

The kids in the class were confused, very, as to why Paul, the second cutest boy in the class, would give me such a gift. I believed then that Paul was making a statement, that it was cruel what had happened earlier in the year, and that this was his opportunity to be the good person that he was, to stand up for me.

Fast forward five years, I am nearly 18, a junior in high school, and life is pretty challenging. My sister came home from college after her first semester, pregnant with my nephew, Dillon. We shared a room in our grandparents' house, and it was not easy for the three of us, me, Kristin, and Shim (we called Dillon that until he was born thus revealing his actual gender).

Far enough along in her pregnancy my sister decided it would be good for us to go out one night, to face our small-town world and all its judgment, so we headed off for this party, me, her, and the one friend who stood by her full-heartedly in this tricky time, Kim. I was feeling all her self consciousness and plenty of my own. It wasn't an easy night.

We got to this random party, and there was Paul Becker, still as handsome as ever with his girlfriend (I wish I could remember her name - I am pretty sure they married early on and hope they are still together). I was delighted to see him and meet his girl, and the three of us had a few beers and laughed about our days at St. Augustine's.

The night wore on, and we had developed an audience at the party. So I brought up the story of Anthony and David, the letter, and then the box of stationary, and how Paul was such a good guy. And he turned to his girlfriend and said to her that I would be the one to credit him for the act of kindness. He then proceeded to tell the room full of people a story, one that I did not remember, but has stuck with me ever since and keeps coming back in moments like the week that it has been.

Paul and I were in kindergarten together, and they had these weird development milestones. It seemed that if you missed one, you were flagged as having a problem. I know because I missed on two important milestones - I did not know where I lived or what my phone number was (we moved around a lot).

I don't remember this, but at some point I must have noticed that Paul was struggling to tie his shoes. There was this test one day for each of us to show how we could tie our shoes. The teachers undid all our laces and then we were to tie our shoes and they would come and see how we did. I found some way to sneak over to Paul and tie his shoes with no one noticing (he swore that I pulled it off).

Later in the day, during circle time, I whispered to him that I too had struggled to learn how to tie my shoes the normal way, so I made up my own way and I would show him in secret, so that the next time the teachers came around he could do it himself. And sure enough, my five-year-old way of tie-ing shoes made perfect sense to Paul. (Paul was born into a family of 13 - there wasn't the same kind of serious attention to things like shoe laces, but that did not mean that the family did not love and care for each other in the most important ways - this story being proof of that).

Returning to the now, this night, the writing of this blog from a very cold study on a wet November night in San Francisco, I am taking in a deep breath and feeling the essence of good people like Paul and I am grateful for this small affirmation of self.

I know in my heart that I have helped lots of people over the years 'learn to tie their shoes'.