Have you ever had one of those moments where you happen to witness a single emotion or action of another person that brings an instant connection to them?
Although I can’t really say I’ve had too many of those experiences, I did see something that quite broke my heart about a week or two ago. It’s almost so complicated in my mind that it has taken me this long to process it enough to even attempt to write it down. But, nevertheless, I’ll try.
I guess you can say transportation issues are one of the biggest worries in my family these days. Between two cars, three drivers, and at least five different places we all need to be AT ONCE at any given moment in the day, it gets pretty crazy to arrange everything neatly. Somehow we manage though, and one way is that I am appointed official chauffer to my baby sister two or three times a week after school.
That, honestly, is not too bad because the only place she ever really needs to go is in town for her ballet lessons. The ballet classes are fun for me to watch anyways. The music, mostly all classical piano recordings, is quite relaxing after a LONG day of school. Sometimes, though not often, I even bring along my homework to plod through. But mostly I am just really content watching the cute mini-ballerinas jumping about the room in their pretty pink leotards, giggling and enjoying their happy carefree lives.
On this particular day, I was only half-heartedly watching their warm-up routines, letting my mind wander off somewhere else but, at the same time, trying to make my sister think I was paying attention. It means a lot to her that I stay and watch.
Suddenly, I was brought back to earth by a great excitement among the young dancers. I guess the teacher had announced that they would do some fun twirly French-name-that-I-could-not-pronounce-in-a-billion-years dance step across the room. In a whirlwind they had all pranced to the other end of the room, and there stood huddled together chatting eagerly.
Well all but one of the dancers, that is. One little girl out of the group caught my eye. I had watched her before: shy, sweet-tempered, brunette, rosy cheeked, and a little on the plump side. She is one of those rare but beautiful people who has the ability to both stand out and fade effortlessly into the background at any moment. From the perspective of all the other little ballerinas, she had faded just then; it fact, she might as well have not even been there at all. “How sad,” I thought. As the rest of the group chatted and leeched off each other’s acceptance and “sameness,” she stood off to the side, watching them patiently from the corner of her eye. At first I was rather impressed by the child’s self-confidence. She had no huge amount of pride, in fact, I doubt that the girl has had a single haughty or bitter moment in her life; she seems the picture of all that is sweet and lovable. She stood there and seemed to take the isolation with such dignity. I figured maybe I had read the situation all wrong, let my imagination get the better of me once again.
Then, for just a split second, I witnessed an emotion that for quite awhile I had forgotten how to feel. The little freckle faced girl looked straight up at the ring of her peers, glanced down, and sighed the most silent yet hopeless sigh I have EVER seen. For a moment, the confident barrier was shattered and I almost looked around the room to see if I was the only one who “heard” the depression she expressed just then. Then she just stood there once more, with that same incredible patience, eyes fixed on the ground and hands clasped preciously together until the dance began. For a moment, I nearly jumped out of my seat and grabbed her by those sweet little hands. “Hi there, what’s your name?” I wanted to say so badly. “I’ll be your very best friend and we can have slumber parties and watch movies and stay up all night telling secrets and I’ll never leave you out of any of my silly conversations because you are beautiful and so very VERY loved and please don’t ever forget that, sweetheart.”
Of course, I realized these actions of mine would not have gone over so well with some folks present. So instead I bit my tongue hard and looked away. I can’t even properly describe how I felt in that brief moment. I know how horrible of an age those pre-teen years can be for everyone. With cliques starting to take over social status so completely and friendships now based on a twisted sort of hierarchal female ranking, finding a way to fit in and have some sense of belonging becomes the main goal, an indescribable desire. Imagine that, if a mountain of insecurities wasn’t already bad enough, you had to deal with awkwardness, shyness, difference. What does it really mean to be considered the chubby girl surrounded by ballerinas?
I won’t go into detail about my own preteen experiences, but I will say that I know all too well how that little girl felt in that moment. I spent my whole life up until about 10th grade trying to be part of that happy circle, desiring some acceptance, some love from my female peers. Rarely was I ever able to find that unselfishness and unaffectedness that it takes to feel confident beyond the closed mentality of the cliques and sickness of leeched friends. I often wish I could have understood the futility of wanting their friendship then. I realize now that I was running after a dream that did not exist, a perfection that was really only pain. I would have been stronger standing off to the side, watching like an outsider as their silly little worlds crumbled. I did stand to the side, but I also spent far too much time desiring what they had. And now I live in fear that my relationships will never reach a level of trust that I should have normally.
I don’t know what I could have done to avoid this. I don’t know what this beautiful little ballerina girl can do to preserve all that sweetness and innocence through this awkward stage in her life before she either changes to fit in or simply becomes apathetic to it all. There’s got to be some solution, right? If only one person, one single person, would step out in love. Sometimes that is all it takes.
Although I can’t really say I’ve had too many of those experiences, I did see something that quite broke my heart about a week or two ago. It’s almost so complicated in my mind that it has taken me this long to process it enough to even attempt to write it down. But, nevertheless, I’ll try.
I guess you can say transportation issues are one of the biggest worries in my family these days. Between two cars, three drivers, and at least five different places we all need to be AT ONCE at any given moment in the day, it gets pretty crazy to arrange everything neatly. Somehow we manage though, and one way is that I am appointed official chauffer to my baby sister two or three times a week after school.
That, honestly, is not too bad because the only place she ever really needs to go is in town for her ballet lessons. The ballet classes are fun for me to watch anyways. The music, mostly all classical piano recordings, is quite relaxing after a LONG day of school. Sometimes, though not often, I even bring along my homework to plod through. But mostly I am just really content watching the cute mini-ballerinas jumping about the room in their pretty pink leotards, giggling and enjoying their happy carefree lives.
On this particular day, I was only half-heartedly watching their warm-up routines, letting my mind wander off somewhere else but, at the same time, trying to make my sister think I was paying attention. It means a lot to her that I stay and watch.
Suddenly, I was brought back to earth by a great excitement among the young dancers. I guess the teacher had announced that they would do some fun twirly French-name-that-I-could-not-pronounce-in-a-billion-years dance step across the room. In a whirlwind they had all pranced to the other end of the room, and there stood huddled together chatting eagerly.
Well all but one of the dancers, that is. One little girl out of the group caught my eye. I had watched her before: shy, sweet-tempered, brunette, rosy cheeked, and a little on the plump side. She is one of those rare but beautiful people who has the ability to both stand out and fade effortlessly into the background at any moment. From the perspective of all the other little ballerinas, she had faded just then; it fact, she might as well have not even been there at all. “How sad,” I thought. As the rest of the group chatted and leeched off each other’s acceptance and “sameness,” she stood off to the side, watching them patiently from the corner of her eye. At first I was rather impressed by the child’s self-confidence. She had no huge amount of pride, in fact, I doubt that the girl has had a single haughty or bitter moment in her life; she seems the picture of all that is sweet and lovable. She stood there and seemed to take the isolation with such dignity. I figured maybe I had read the situation all wrong, let my imagination get the better of me once again.
Then, for just a split second, I witnessed an emotion that for quite awhile I had forgotten how to feel. The little freckle faced girl looked straight up at the ring of her peers, glanced down, and sighed the most silent yet hopeless sigh I have EVER seen. For a moment, the confident barrier was shattered and I almost looked around the room to see if I was the only one who “heard” the depression she expressed just then. Then she just stood there once more, with that same incredible patience, eyes fixed on the ground and hands clasped preciously together until the dance began. For a moment, I nearly jumped out of my seat and grabbed her by those sweet little hands. “Hi there, what’s your name?” I wanted to say so badly. “I’ll be your very best friend and we can have slumber parties and watch movies and stay up all night telling secrets and I’ll never leave you out of any of my silly conversations because you are beautiful and so very VERY loved and please don’t ever forget that, sweetheart.”
Of course, I realized these actions of mine would not have gone over so well with some folks present. So instead I bit my tongue hard and looked away. I can’t even properly describe how I felt in that brief moment. I know how horrible of an age those pre-teen years can be for everyone. With cliques starting to take over social status so completely and friendships now based on a twisted sort of hierarchal female ranking, finding a way to fit in and have some sense of belonging becomes the main goal, an indescribable desire. Imagine that, if a mountain of insecurities wasn’t already bad enough, you had to deal with awkwardness, shyness, difference. What does it really mean to be considered the chubby girl surrounded by ballerinas?
I won’t go into detail about my own preteen experiences, but I will say that I know all too well how that little girl felt in that moment. I spent my whole life up until about 10th grade trying to be part of that happy circle, desiring some acceptance, some love from my female peers. Rarely was I ever able to find that unselfishness and unaffectedness that it takes to feel confident beyond the closed mentality of the cliques and sickness of leeched friends. I often wish I could have understood the futility of wanting their friendship then. I realize now that I was running after a dream that did not exist, a perfection that was really only pain. I would have been stronger standing off to the side, watching like an outsider as their silly little worlds crumbled. I did stand to the side, but I also spent far too much time desiring what they had. And now I live in fear that my relationships will never reach a level of trust that I should have normally.
I don’t know what I could have done to avoid this. I don’t know what this beautiful little ballerina girl can do to preserve all that sweetness and innocence through this awkward stage in her life before she either changes to fit in or simply becomes apathetic to it all. There’s got to be some solution, right? If only one person, one single person, would step out in love. Sometimes that is all it takes.
Queen of the Cats
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