The Opposite of Spoiled

I learned I had writing talent in a seventh grade English class. Our teacher (male, young, can't recall name) assigned topics and we'd write essays or stories, then read them out loud.

My stories made people laugh. The teacher gave me straight 10s...the highest grade that was supposed to be unattainable.

Then I took Creative Writing in 11th or 12th grade. My grade was A with the addition: "does more than is necessary for grade." I wrote voraciously. The sap was tapped and the flow was sweet.

But Pittston Area High School did not value the arts. Football. Football made money for the school. Boys won scholarships. I played clarinet in the marching band. There was no other musical teaching there. I wasn't very good. I never practiced. I was a good sight reader. I didn't like the clarinet.

I liked the flute. I still do. I chose the clarinet though cuz my older cousin Ellie had played clarinet and she'd pass her clarinet on to me. I did it to save my parents money. They told me I could play any instrument I wanted. We weren't poor at all. They didn't encourage me to take the hand-me-down to save money. It was all my idea. At age 10 maybe.

I worried about finances. My parents' finances. We were solidly middle class. Now today I see they could have easily afforded a flute. It's strange how I was willing to sacrifice without being asked--without there being a need really.

I took that upon myself. The opposite of spoiled. But it was voluntary.

I almost never bought clothes of my own until after my mother died. (I was 13). I wore hand-me-downs from my older girl cousins. I didn't have to do this. I'm sure if I asked they'd have bought me clothes I'd chosen. But I didn't care. Seriously didn't care. The opposite of girly girl.

In fact, after my mother died and the cousins abandoned us, I was at a loss to know what sort of clothes to buy. I only had my first pair of jeans when I was 12. I bought polyester matching sets. Ugly things but I didn't know. Not until a girl in my class told me purple didn't match green. I really didn't know.

Somewhere between 13 and 14 a fashion sense kicked in and I started dressing normal. But before? I must have stood out like a homeless person pushing a shopping cart. I saw what people were wearing of course, but it didn't translate to what sorts of things I should buy for myself.

The mall--once I got into it I enjoyed a bit of fashion. No one really showed me. I guess normal girls don't need to be shown.

I was a funny girl... the mother of the cousins that abandoned us after my mother died said so.

My older brother got all sorts of things. A Schwinn. A mini-bike. A CB set up. He had a rock band and my parents bought the instruments. Bought a station wagon that smelled of cigar smoke for the family car so Joe could transport his equipment. Camera and dark room. Remodeled the cellar so he'd have his own whole floor as a bedroom.

I didn't miss anything...I rarely asked for anything. I never felt deprived. I had a very nice stereo set-up that saved my life. I got a car when I started going to college so I could commute.

I chose to go to Scranton U because my brother went there and it was cheaper if 2 students from the same family went. That's how I chose the school. I knew absolutely nothing about what ivy league or girl's colleges or UC Berkeley could offer me. No one suggested it. No one suggested I apply for a scholarship although I was near Valadictorian (a C in gym one semester ruined my GPA)

I could write. They knew I could write. Yet no one told me how to go about being a writer. I changed my major from pre-med to English without telling my father. I couldn't explain. What would I do with an English degree? Teach? Law School?

the horror. Cornell Law School is its own horror story.

I should have stayed in academia...gone for a masters...an MFA...or tried journalism seriously. I wanted to write for a living but I didn't know how.

And I didn't think anyone could teach me cuz...well...I knew how to write.

So I should just write.

Right?

What a naive fool I was.

Magical thinking that I could somehow become a writer without a clue how to go about it.

I'm angry at myself, my schools, my parents, my hometown.

Cause y'all let me fall through the cracks. I was drinking daily by the time I was a freshman in college so I could...oh gods.

I have to get over this. I guess I have to forgive. I am grateful my 2 nieces didn't fall through any cracks  but had great educations in spite of public schooling.

I feel I've been cocooning these past five years.

Hibernating.

But not wasting away.

gathering my energies that were so sprawled and wasted most of my life.

I have to grieve the losses my young self experienced. She was a tough nut to crack. Very tough. I couldn't allow myself to feel pity for myself cuz then I'd cry and never stop crying.

that's all for now

i hope this exorcises that particular demon.