This is me in the 5th grade. Don’t you love the shirt with the people and the alphabet? I’m sure it has a deep meaning, somehow.
Yes, my mother cut my hair, but she was a hair professional, unlike myself. No, I didn’t like it that short, and the other kids called me Q-tip because I was so skinny, with a poof of hair on top. And, see that cowlick? Awful. It’s a lifelong bane.
This is also the 5th grade, and this picture was taken while I was performing as Maria in The Sound of Music. I danced and sang on stage, sometimes all alone, in front of large groups of children and adults without thinking much about it. I remember being nervous at the try-out and forgetting the words to the National Anthem, but that was about the extent of my stage-fright.
This is me in the 6th grade. Now, don’t I look happy and carefree? (And a lot like my mother!?) Even wearing clothes made by my grandmother (there was a matching skirt) and those festive earrings, it appears as though I’m having fun. However, in the one year that had passed from age 10 to 11, I lost that wonderful confidence and would not appear on stage for any reason.
Now, here is the 7th grade. Enter mascara. Yay! And natural curl that suddenly developed in my hair. Yay! Don’t you love those bangs and the glitter painted whale shirt? It’s hard to see them, but there were actually plastic beads glued on that shirt, too. Oh, I loved it.
By the 7th grade, I would not draw attention to myself for any reason. I was in the choir, but that was a group thing. And that was the year I began… blushing. Not just getting a little pink when I did something embarrassing, either. I got smoking hot, beet red. It was a new experience for me. My Science teacher realized that every time I spoke a word in class, or even if my name was called, resulting in the class looking in my direction, I would blush deeply. So, she would get the whole class pounding on their desks and chanting loudly, “Get! Red-der! Get! Red-der!” I would light up like an 80th birthday cake and bury my face in my arms until they all went back to work and forgot about me. (I love that all my analogies involve food.) It wasn’t a mean-spirited exercise, really, just fun for everyone… but me. I didn’t have any hurt feelings, though. I knew I was an easy target. So, that was my worst year for blushing. The following years, I was still a pretty shy girl, but I didn’t get embarrassed so easily, and didn’t redden every time someone spoke to me.
Here’s the 8th grade. I had to throw this one in just for the awesome one-sided bangs. (That cowlick!) And, see how I brushed those curls out into a nice, frizzy mane? Oh, what was I thinking? I probably couldn’t reason well due the oppressively heavy eyebrows weighing down my forehead.
So, now I’m thirty… ish… and it’s starting over! I can be shy at times, in new groups, and I get nervous when I have to speak in front of a lot of people, which is not very often, but I’m not that easy to rattle anymore. When I do blush, it’s usually when I embarrass mySELF by saying something inappropriate without thinking, or when someone else makes a “bedroom reference.” It still amuses other people. But, lately, I have been blushing at the drop of a hat! I was talking to some guys (mostly family) at services the other day about young people holding hands, and I got red. I blushed numerous times at the last board meeting any time I spoke aloud. (Ooh, that sounds so important. I’m leaving out the “Little League” part on purpose.) It’s getting ridiculous. I’m not a teenager anymore, and I’m not embarrassed to speak! I’m not ‘lacking self-confidence,’ either. I’m just going through some freaky blushing stage. I get embarrassed because I get so red! I hope it doesn’t last long. And, I hope I never lose the ability to tweeze my eyebrows. That would be painful for everyone.
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