One day, a new girl stands next to our teacher in front of the class. This means I'm not the new kid anymore. Well, actually, I've not been the new kid for a while. But the newcomers who'd followed me hadn't attracted my attention, other than the fact that I was glad to be me and not them. I was twelve. Nuff said.
This new girl is something else. She's a tall, blond, blue eyed, willowy beauty. Sensing her to be as hungry for friendship, right now, as me, I waste no time.
She doesn't eat alone in the lunchroom. She's invited to join me. Remember me? The kindergartner who consoled scared classmates with the fact that their mothers would return to fetch them, just like I knew my mom would fetch me? And if she's shy, not to worry. She's sitting next to a little chatterbox, who'd been so social that, at times, my kindergarten teacher, who'd most often smiled at me, would, on occasion, feel the need to scold me, point toward the door, and single me out for time out on the bench in the hall—before the term 'time out' had drifted from sports to unruly kids. Though I didn't like the scolding, I didn't mind the bench or the hall, because I could chat up other kids and teachers on missions from classrooms to the restroom, the office, whatever. In short, it took a lot to push my nose out of joint. When it comes to zipping my lips, well that, my friends, will continue to prove to be a monumental feat. Thank goodness fate has a profession awaiting me in which I'll be asked to release trains of thought for hours on end. Lucky me!
So anyway, I invite Marilyn to play, and she invites me back, and though she is not very animated, all is well until she receives her first party invitation, which I do not. To Marilyn's credit, she does not drop me as fast as my hot spot of insecurity fries my self confidence to a crisp. You see, as soon as she's absorbed by the high spirited crowd, I perceive her as out of my league and quietly, fade away.
Though perception is one's reality—perception and reality doth not necessarily match.
So having passed on the prize behind door number three, where does that leave me? Well, life is not a game show—three chances to win or lose—on and off the stage in half an hour. Life is an on-going, intergenerational saga, which thankfully moves from one stage to the next. So, let's leave the defensive side of my brain in the wings and watch the positively focused side of my brain, move on to door number four ...
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