A Mommy Story

First, I’d like to plug Her Bad Mother’s Basement today. There is an anonymous poster there today who really needs some help and advice. If you have the time, please go visit and give her your thoughts.

Second, you’ll notice over the next week that some of my posts are heavy on the introspection. I’m turning 30 on June 21, which has led to me looking back at my life so far, wondering where the turning points were, and where I want to go from here. I hope you’ll indulge me.

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Every now and then I complain here about my strong-willed, independent, brilliant daughter. I wonder how I managed to breed such a child, and then I think back to myself, and realize: oh yeah, that’s exactly how I was. Emphasis on was.

I was a child who could best be described as precocious. Stubborn, willful, and amazingly intelligent. I was reading and writing at three years old. I found kindergarten to be boring. I knew I was smart and I was proud of it. I was an only child, who had a large vocabulary, a vivid imagination, and a desire to converse with adults. Forget kids my age – they were too immature for me.

I have few memories of my early years, but I remember the first day of first grade vividly. The teacher told us we were going to learn to read. I already knew how to read! I was going to impress her! She passed out the Dick & Jane books, and asked if anyone was able to read the first page. My hand shot up, and I practically fell out of my chair trying to be noticed. She called on me and I clearly read the first two pages. She then asked me to read the next two pages, which I did with pride. At that point, she got a weird look on her face, stood up, and took my hand, saying “Come with me.”

I was puzzled by her reaction, and wondered if I had done something wrong. She led me out into the hall and told me, “You don’t belong in first grade reading. So you’re going to go to second grade for reading.” I was brought into the second grade classroom and left there for reading, before being returned to first grade for the remainder of the day. I was both excited and embarrassed. Excited to be told I was ahead of others and to have my intelligence validated, but embarrassed to sit there with all of those second graders looking at me funny, and then return to my own class with their weird looks as well. I didn’t feel so proud of myself now.

That year we took IQ tests, and I qualified to spend one day a week in a gifted ed program for the remainder of my elementary school years. There was talk of advancing me one or two grades as well, but my mom refused. I was already 6 years old going on 20, and she saw no reason to speed things up any more than that. I was told I had so much potential – I could be anything I wanted to with a brain like mine, and I dreamed of being an astronaut, or a vet, or a marine biologist. By fourth grade, the standardized tests said I had the knowledge of an average 12th grade student.

In my years of school, though, the primary thing I learned was this: intelligence was not a trait to be admired, and it was better to be only mediocre. My regular teachers refused to call on me often, preferring to focus their attention on underperforming students, and so I learned to raise my hand less often. I would get in trouble for finishing my work too quickly and then finding myself bored, so I learned to slow down and drag my feet.

I was teased and hated by my classmates for getting such good grades, and so I learned to intentionally put less work into what I did. My strong-willed nature was not a good trait for the playground, and so I learned to follow the crowd. The other kids were uninterested in what I had to say, and so I learned to talk about more trivial things, like who was interested in who and which boys had cooties. I had no care for make-up or fashion or girlie things, but by the end of 5th grade I was convinced I was ugly and fat.

The only days I felt like myself were the days when I was in the gifted ed program. There I was surrounded by fellow misfits from the four elementary schools in town, and I was happy to have as much knowledge crammed into my brain as I could take. These kids were easier to talk to, and the teacher, Mrs. Sager, was understanding of our plight.

The gifted ed program ended after 5th grade. I survived junior high and high school, although sadly what I had learned from elementary school stayed with me. I remained mediocre, still smart, but trying to stay out of sight or hide my good grades. My will was broken, and I was insecure, self-conscious, and unpopular, despite my attempts to be otherwise.

Around the time of my high school graduation, I received a letter in the mail. It was sent by Mrs. Sager, but it was written by me. I had forgotten that we wrote ourselves letters in 5th grade, letters to our future selves that we would get when we graduated.

I had to laugh at my poor writing skills – I never was good at handwriting. But the remainder of the letter had nothing to laugh at. My 5th grade self hoped that I was no longer “such a nerd” and hoped even more that I wasn’t “still fat and ugly.” While this person wanted to be an astronaut, she conceded that it was “probably too high of an aspiration for someone like you,” and she was right. I no longer knew what I wanted to do with myself. I had no hopes and dreams beyond getting to college. I ended my letter with, “I hope you can pull yourself together and maybe do something important someday.”

The last line gave me a small glimmer of hope. Even my downtrodden 5th grade self still hoped for something better, and knew that even though I didn’t fit in, I still had some potential in me, somewhere. I held that line in my heart, going to college with no career ideas in mind, but wanting to find my love of learning again. I graduated from college with honors, and I was proud of myself. I have yet to finish my Master’s degree, and may never finish it, since I’m now shifting gears to go back to school for nursing. The lessons of childhood are still with me: I suffer from laziness, I struggle with putting as much work into something as I should, I don’t think of myself as all that smart anymore, and my self-image remains painfully negative.

But I am making progress, trying to find that girl who was strong-willed, independent, and intelligent. Looking at Cordelia is like looking at the old me. I see her as my do-over of sorts. While I do not want to live my life again through her, I do intend to prevent her personality from being squashed by institutionalism. I am looking at alternative schooling for her, either through Montessori or private school. I want her to see the potential she has and follow it through. As long as I can help it, she won’t don the mask of a false persona crafted by the wishes of those who want her to be more like everyone else. And as annoying as her stubbornness can be sometimes, I remind myself that the alternative can be far worse, and I try hard to encourage her passions and be proud of her accomplishments.

Maybe she will teach me how to find my old self again?