On the last day of my sixth-grade year, I waited outside Mrs. Barber's busy classroom for my turn to say goodbye, to give her the book of Robert Frost poems I'd purchased with my allowance. Next year I'd begin Junior High, far from the protective gaze of my mother and her fellow teachers at the elementary school. Mrs. Barber's door was propped open and I looked fondly, one last time, at the decorated door -- a tree with each student's picture pasted on an apple, above it in construction-paper letters, "Mrs. Barber's Class. The Apples of my Eye."
Two older boys stood in the hallway. They examined the pictures on the door and pointed out the pretty girls. Dawn Jones who looked like a young Farrah Fawcett, including cleavage. Karly Richardson who had a glorious mane that flowed down her back in a glossy chocolate waterfall. Melissa Brecker. Susan Plantz, Barbie Miller. With a frizzy home perm and a mouthful of teeth that were bolting for the barn, I knew I wasn't one of the pretty girls, but I kept hoping to hear my name, hoping one of them would look at my picture and see some well-hidden promise. Instead, one of the boys pointed at my picture and said, "Woof!"
That might have been the end of me. I might have drawn an "X" over each eye and laid down on the cold linoleum tiles if I hadn't already come up with a surefire plan for transformation. My braces were going on soon, and that would be just the beginning. Over the summer, I would study issues of Seventeen and follow every bit of advice. I would beg my mother for a salon perm, and wheedle the money for it from my grandmother. Every day I would slather myself with baby oil and iodine and lay out. I would stop trying to make "Christopher Columbus!" a catch phrase.
It almost worked. The braces were instantly effective at corralling my teeth. Nannie sprang for the professional perm. Seventeen taught me how to pucker my lips and dab lip gloss at the center for maximum allure, and by the end of the summer my freckles had spread and joined to create something that, from a distance, looked a bit like a weak-tea-colored tan. Then, out of the b-b-b-b-b-blue, I began to stutter.
There is no human being more fragile, more wretched, than a thirteen-year-old girl. The wrong shade of stitching on your jeans can ruin your day. The hair-flicking snub of a popular girl can ruin your month. A minor social misstep can ruin your reputation. A "C" on an English test can ruin your academic future. Now add a stutter.
As a girl, and an unpretty one, I already felt insignificant, effectively silenced, and now even my own mouth was convinced I had nothing interesting to say. Whenever I wanted to speak, had an idea to express, a humorous comment, anxiety swelled before my lips could part, as I anticipated what was going to happen – my tongue would flop around like a beached fish, accompanied by idiotic repetitive consonants, as if the fish were drumming death throes with its tail: I'm d-d-d-d-d-d-dying! Mostly, I kept quiet.
Doctors told my parents that because my stutter had developed so suddenly, and in adolescence, it would eventually go away, and over time it did. Today I very rarely stumble over a word or phrase. Friends I've met in adulthood would be surprised to know about my teenage stutter. They know me as confident and outgoing, a talker. I speak frequently about animal welfare and sheltering to community and government organizations.
The ugly went away too. I felt pretty on prom night, on my wedding day, and have had innumerable pretty days since. If I were ever again compared to a dog I'd be a keen and tender-hearted mix of shepherds and spaniels, curly about the ears, with knowing eyes and a mouth that always (sometimes involuntarily) turns up at the corners. "Woof!" Yet sometimes I look in the mirror and see the girl I was – achingly unattractive, desperately wanting, a mute with so much to say.
I saw myself years later in one of my son's classmates. Jenny was all elbows and knees. Her features were too large for her face, and when she smiled her neck dipped to her shoulder as if her exposed teeth weighed twenty pounds, but any adult could see the beauty in waiting. She was going to be a stunner, a Best in Show.
I was a chaperone for their fifth-grade field day, and I stood behind the class watching the relay racers come around the track. As she jostled for a view of the race, the boy standing next to her hissed, "Move over, Freak." Another boy snickered loudly. Jenny's whole body trembled with suppressed tears.
I wanted to pull her aside and impart to her what I had learned since fifth grade – Don't give boys the power of assessment. If you present yourself as a blank slate, people will try to write on you. Looks matter, just not nearly as much as the confidence that comes with accomplishments – but I didn't think she'd believe me. So I leaned toward the boys and said, "Y'all don't know this yet, but one day Jenny's going to be very pretty and if you two don't hush up right now, she'll want nothing to do with either of you."
Jenny looked away, as if she hadn't heard a thing, and followed the teacher toward the next field day event. As she passed me I saw her broad smile, on a neck unbowed, and I knew I'd said just what she needed to hear.
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Comments
Great post R
This was wonderful Bellwether and I expect to see it on the cover.
Congrats right now..:)
rated with hugs
You knew how to reach your audience effectively - and that made all the difference for Jenny, I'm sure. Very beautiful and poignant, Bellwether. Great title.
♥R
Thanks for being there for Jenny.
You're so right about thirteen year olds, one of the more painful leftovers from my childhood is from age 13 and it's so painful because I was 13, I see now....
...love how you describe Xs over the eyes...that made me laugh.
terrific writing, bell. one of my favorites, even minus your usual recipe bonus. ;
Lovely piece Bell.
PS - I thought as a Jenny, so I was a Jenny. I never got over it, but in looking back at photos, I was Jenny. I never even needed braces. During the years when I was unarguably (but not uncommonly) pretty, I couldn't see it, so/and no one else did either. That's what approval, or disapproval, from those you love and/or admire can do to a soul. I try to remember this every day.
I didn't or couldn't see myself as cute, or at least not ugly, probably related to a lack of support from those around me who felt that telling a girl she looked pretty would give her a swelled head, or make her do something she shouldn't. I was always a log or two shy of the load, and suffered under the feeling of lack -- which actively translated into the way I have seen the world since childhood. There's never enough, it's always 1/2 full, no good deed goes unpunished, and I don't deserve it.
Tell a girl her best qualities today, any girl. She need to hear it.
And your paragraph detailing your Three-Month Plan (along with many other parts of this most excellent post) is your usual brilliant self.
(By the way, 13 isn't so great for pudgy, uncoordinated, awkward, socially inept boys who don't know a bloody thing about cars. Isn't that why we're all here?)
Loved the story. My brother, too, stuttered for a while. I think it was due to the abuse he endured at my Dad's hands. It eventually went away.
Recently, I talked to a friend who wanted to refuse to hire a woman with a stutter for a job that required a lot of phone work. I told him I was pretty sure a speech impediment qualifies as a disability, and he should give her a chance as long as she's otherwise qualified. She could be a great employee. He was overruled by his boss and she was overruled anyway.
Great story. Thanks for sharing.
It is an ADA qualified disability. Even if the employee can't perform the essential job functions, the employer has the duty to accommodate them -- provide assistance in the form of equipment & perhaps job modifications to see if they can perform the job WITH ACCOMMODATION. Its a terrible stigma, I think.
there's nothing that makes my inner mother wolf look more menacing than when I see this happening to one of my students
you've a gorgeous soul
Matt -- Awww. Not sure the boys liked me at that moment, but it was something they needed to hear.
Naomi (Kate) -- We should all stick up for Jennys. I worry about the ones that fall through the cracks.
Bea -- That phase didn't last long. I've got skim-milk skin and thankfully I laid off the tanning before I cooked myself.
Yap -- Ha! It's all a matter of finding people who have the same sense of humor. I married my husband because he thinks I'm hilarious. And he also impregnated me, but I wouldn't have married him if he didn't think I was funny.
Bonnie -- Thanks!
Annie -- I thought of you when I was writing this. Members of the Jo March Club!
Susan -- Those years were so angsty. Everything hits at once -- body, mind, boys, school. It's just not fair.
Linda -- Somehow I knew I'd find a lot of Jennys on OS.
Sophie -- It was painful to watch her so defeated, and uplifting to see what a simple sentence could do. It was eye-opening to me too.
Mission -- I'm glad you liked it.
Tom -- It always seemed like the boys had it easier, but I know that can't be true. Or at least not for some boys. As teens we were all pushed into boxes and expected to conform, play our roles.
Greenheron -- I bet you've seen it all! I've wanted to shake my own daughter at times. She's getting better. Her last boyfriend was a Mr. Sketch Geek, just not THE Mr. Sketch Geek.
Jane -- The best revenge was being voted a "Senior Beauty" in high school. That was nice.
Susie -- Thanks for reading!
Aim -- I often wonder how an all-girls school experience impacts girls at this difficult age. I felt so examined, particularly by boys. What would it have been like without that? I hope you'll write about it
Christine -- I'm just happy I could speak out at that point without stuttering!
Jonathan -- Oh the stories you must have! (And I've enjoyed all the ones you've told.)
Mumble -- Woof! I have seen some ugly -- or as we used to call them, "unfortunate looking" -- dogs, but even they were cute as hell.
Felisa -- I so appreciate that compliment. I'm glad you enjoyed the piece.
Trilogy -- Thank you for stopping by to read and comment.
Linda -- I wish I always knew exactly what to say. That day it all came together.
Fusun -- When I watched the movie, it was painfully familiar -- the frustration and feelings of embarrassment and shame.
Blue -- They should put home perms behind the counter with all the meth-making chemicals. That would have spared me a lot of teasing.
Froggy --The scary thing about raising children at this age is that there's a lot you won't know about. They get good at hiding their feelings. That makes it so much harder.
Yet I feel utter contempt for myself looking back, because if I had a chance, I made the few below me on the social hierarchy feel just as bad. Pathetic.
Dirndl -- Have you seen Sally Mann's "At Twelve"? It's haunting.
Caroline -- That's the sweetest thing. I appreciate it, especially knowing what you're going through with your little one.
Just Thinking -- I have so many awful memories about those years 13-15. Purgatory. Everything I did or wore or said was just WRONG. Is that true of every culture? Or just ours?
Sarah -- She did smile and wave to me every time after that day.
Cedar -- I'm both sorry you can relate...and glad. :)
Scarlett -- I wasn't completely innocent myself. The worst thing about the teen years is how sometimes even those of us who've been picked on look around for someone a step below us to dump on. I wasn't a "mean girl" by any means, but I can remember times when I sat back, kept quiet as another girl got picked on, just happy that it wasn't me. Which makes me complicit.
Alysa -- Thanks for the compliment. This piece was a very personal one.
Con -- I saw it, and it was hard for me to watch. Here's the funny thing. When I told my husband about this post, he was shocked that I had ever stuttered so terribly. I was shocked that I had never discussed it with him. Whether purposefully or subconsciously, it's something I kept from him, and we've been married 25 years.
Oryoki -- I hope that all of our experiences, if they haven't killed us, have made us more empathetic and better people overall.
Mypsyche -- I like the ending too, but I wish I knew what became of Jenny. I'd like a good ending for her.
Divorcedpauline -- Worst lemon in school?? What kind of lemon school did you attend?? If you had a stutter you'd have been voted wwwwwworst lllllllllemon in skkkool. Yeah, that's infinitely worse.
Stim -- I'm devolving into an ugly duckling again. Such is the way of things.
littlewillie -- Who cares if you can say "opthamologist" if ARE one? Best revenge ever.
Femme -- I tried to think of a recipe...
Gabby -- You've got a comment stutter! I so understand! And I'm so blessed that my parents could afford braces. My teeth were so wonky that good skin, pretty eyes, cheerleader hair and a smokin' bod wouldn't have been able to override them. If I win the lottery, after I tackled clean drinking water for third world countries, I'd set up an orthodontia fund for underprivileged kids.
Diananni -- I could never be a teacher for that reason.
Pilgrim -- Here on OS? Yeah. Buncha dorky adults who haven't forgotten thirteen.
Cranky -- As painful as it was to be thirteen, it was more painful to watch my daughter be thirteen.
Brokenwing -- That must have been sad, watching y
our brother go through that, the impact of the abuse on his life manifesting itself long after any bruises healed. I wasn't aware that stuttering could be classified as a disability, though it does make sense. After I wrote this I realized how uncommon it is, as an adult, to come across an adult stutterer, though I knew several adolescent stutterers. Maybe the longevity of the problem is related to the depth of the emotional scar? I don't know. I'd like to read up on it.
Vanessa -- I don't imagine you put up with ONE bit of it!
Lunchlady -- I'd fast forward to 80 before I went back to 13.
Bell, you've given me TWO belly laughs today. One we talked about and the other, ahhhahaa, the other is, hhooodhhheeeehehehee, is the comment you just made above me!! ooohhhoooohononoo I'm peeing myself here.
As for your writing? I've run out of words to describe how much I admire and enjoy every word you write.
Lezlie
You sure know what to say and how to say it now! The ending is beautiful. :)
Rated Best in Show.
Though the fellow I am living with now has all but overcome this, he told me of how painful it was and music was his way of speeking. Lucky for him he has overcome this to an extent, it is torture on the rest of us. He speaks his mind and goes on and on like a tire fire. His life partner has actually STARTED stutterring.
So you see, sometimes it works to your advantage. No one wants to embroil you with opinions.
Hmmmm.
Margaret -- I think everything we say to kids matters, but especially when they're feeling very fragile. Often, we don't really know when that is (they are pretty good at hiding things). Here, it wasn't a mystery.
Joan -- You know I heart you too!
Deborah -- I hope it's a rare event. It was the first time I'd encountered so bold a bully.
Lucy -- Living well is the best revenge. We learn so many things as we get older. I hate that when we're that age "pretty" is at the forefront.
iq -- I'm sure she had so many negative things in her head, I just wanted to give her one good one. I'm sure it wasn't enough!
Lezlie -- Aren't you glad we're older now? Oh the things that seemed important then...
Algis -- You're right. Although my "suffering" was pretty small potatoes, it all shapes us.
Fernsy -- Hot stuff!? I'll take it!! (I'm just so happy to see you out and about these days. You could have written -- "This sucks!")
Clay -- I'll never be a Best in Show, but Mutt of the Day is good enough for me! I'm glad you liked the piece.
Writer -- "Becoming" is the perfect word. (It's great to see you around these parts too!)
Lea -- Not always nice, but mostly.
Diane -- Ha! Always look on the bright side! Music and acting were my salvation as well. On stage, I rarely stuttered. Maybe it has to do with being another persona up there.
Maryway -- It is the smallest things that they remember. I bet you were (are?) a sought-after teacher.
Maria -- Glad you liked!
Franish -- I'm still traumatized as well. It seems a lot of us are. I think it goes back to Writer's word "becoming" -- how we are becoming ourselves at the very time when we aren't physically ourselves.
Roxy -- That's a legitimate criticism, and one I tried to address in the last paragraph (i.e. -- what I wanted to tell her but felt she wouldn't believe), perhaps inadequately. All I can in my defense is that at the time I felt strongly that what I said was what she needed to hear in that instance. Sometimes, that's just the best we can do.