I was in the third grade. I was a chatterbox. When I look back at past report cards for elementary grades I can see all the boxes checked for talking too much. I couldn’t help it I guess. I had lots to say.
Now that I am much older I know that even back then I was craving what I was lacking at home. I needed to be validated. I wanted to be noticed. I suppose that even now I still have some of those feelings that will pop up now and then.
My teacher, was a short, plump woman, who wore stockings and pumps and a print dress every single day. Her hair was orange/red. She had more freckles on her face and arms than anyone I had ever known at that time. When she smiled around her eyes formed wrinkles and she reminded me back then of Mrs. Clause with those tiny eyes that danced.
She moved me several times for talking. I sat in the front rows. I was moved to the back rows. I can remember standing out in the hall a couple of times. I also tattled. I think people tattle for attention. Tattling draws attention. Whether good or bad we need it, we think.
She was a strict teacher and molded me into what I am today.
I didn’t like her much at the time, but she helped me to start the process that I was worthy. She helped me see that bad attention was not the only choice I had in drawing others to me.
For the lack of confidence part, I had to teach myself through tough lessons in life. Good friends sitting with me and talking. Tears being poured, and accepting. Yes, this is the toughest teaching job of all. Accepting myself for who I am.
I am never going to be any other than who I am. The TV media can destroy us. It makes us ponder on what else is out there. Why can’t I look or talk, or have what she/he has. The bottom line is God made me who I am for a reason. I am no one special in the outer world. But I am a writer, a good mother, and a woman who has a right to stand here living on this land.