Oh, Hello
We were in Houston the last time I was paying attention to what I was writing in here. I like the idea of weaving the now into the not now and not yet by way of my inability to focus attentively. That’s going to make this an easier walk to take, now that I don’t have to know which way to go. I’ll just follow the pretty bird.
So Andrea and Monique are here, that’s where we left off. Nichole and I went to school at St. Anne’s, a catholic elementary school close to Houston, and this is the place where most of my memories from that time exist. We were there from my kindergarten through fourth grade years. It was a really beautiful community of people. We were all fresh-faced little kids who just loved each other wildly. That’s what I remember about my classmates, and my teachers were actual angels.
We started our weekdays together in the biggest classroom with the whole school. We began each morning with announcements, intentions, and prayers. And every single day, those people prayed for my family and my sister, and it really mattered. It still does.
Many, many years later when I reconnected with Lakesha [She was my very best friend, and it felt like not a second was missed when we reacquainted ourselves, and remembered instantly how much the other mattered.], she told me that they had a memorial for Andrea after she passed. She said it was packed. They all still showed up for us, even when we were gone, and even though we wouldn’t know it for another 25 years. That is some serious love, and I will forever be grateful to all of them.
They were our people. They were with us. They knew us. They saw us. They understood us. I was myself in this place. I was excited to try new things, and to play, and to be in front of people, and to talk about what was happening, and to let people see me… in this place, and at this time. It is, I’m almost positive, the only time I have fully felt that way.
Until now, I guess. It’s different though. There is greatness in all my woundedness, and I think then there was just greatness. I have freedom because of what I have overcome, but then I was just free. It’s not necessarily better, just so very different. Funny because I hope and pray for all children to be able to live in the beauty of their naivety for as long as they possibly can, but I find it excruciating to talk to adults that this prayer actually worked for.
I was proud to be… whatever I was. I was in gymnastics, and I was proud to be “SO good at it!” I liked to sing, and I was proud to be “SO awesome at that too!” School was easy for me then, and I was proud to be “SO smart!” I’m not exactly sure at what point I grew into believing I was not SO… any of the things. But after this place, I remember being more of a person who knew that I’d be judged harshly for anything I ever tried. So I just didn’t. The mind of a child is a funny thing to look at later, and wonder about all the whens and whys and what ifs and which ways. But at this point, I was proud.
In one of my classes, I kept getting finished with my work way early. So instead of just sitting there waiting, I asked my teacher if I could work on a project. We decided [I’m sure that she decided, really. But this is how it looks in my head.] that I would learn a song in sign language, and teach it to my classmates to perform for the Christmas assembly. I already knew how to sign a little because of Andrea, and I could use the extra time in class to draw the how-to. There wasn’t one because in the past, we used to have to make stuff and also think.
On the playground one day, in the time of teaching hand signals, another girl, also a gymnast, challenged me to a duel on the monkey bars. I’m sure I was bragging. I had met Bela Karolyi and because I was “SO good,” he introduced me to Shannon Miller, and I got to watch her on the bars in the gym. So I was definitely going to be in the Olympics for just a minute, and it makes sense that this was that time. Why else would I be challenged to a monkey bar duel?
Her name adds a depth to this story that could never be duplicated by a made-up name. It’s an incredible one, so awesome even that you’re going to think I made it up. I can’t imagine she’ll mind me sharing. It is a name that she should be proud to have, as I have been appreciative even just to be able to use it in a story. So Bernadette Folderbaum… let’s do it one more time since I built it up. That’s right, Bernadette Folderbaum told me that I wouldn’t be able to swing up my legs through the bars, do some spin moves up top, and then do a double backflip landing perfectly.
And that was true. She was absolutely right about that. Although I imagine myself making it all look pretty graceful until that broken thumb at my almost perfect dismount.
We hung out at Dr. Kessler’s office often, probably because of Andrea, but also because I was pretty accident prone as a tiny person. He was a very nice man. When I was in pre-k, he gave me a shot in the leg and this doctor thought I was so lovable that it made him cry to see me cry. I think that’s the sweetest thing. He mended my broken collar bone when I fell from a tree, and gave me stitches when I tried to carry a jug of wine long before I should [as if I ever should’ve]. He fixed a fractured foot, helped me with some heinous rope burns, and a handful of other clumsy injuries. And now here he was again, swooping in to heal with love and lollipops.
Which hand, you ask? The write one. The one I had to use to draw those how-to signs. Yep, we are still doing that. But what’s the best part? My bone broke in such a way that it required ridiculous stillness that could only be achieved with a cast that spanned my entire arm past my elbow. Yes, past my elbow. That’s right, like this…
While I may eventually go trodding through photo albums in my mother’s house for a more accurate picture of this event, I’m afraid for now you’ll have to live with this. You get it, and obviously it’s ridiculous!
Ninety degrees is my favorite in temperatures, not angles doctor! Please arrange me some other way.
I don’t remember teaching my peers how to sign this song. I don’t remember the song even. I have only a glimpse of this event in my memory. Casted and stuck in a constant hello, I stood on a stage in front of everyone supposedly conducting movements requiring arms only. Smiling and starry-eyed, I was proud. And yes, it was “SO good.”
Looks like it would have been hard for me to find the appropriate amount of twirling space at this show. Glad to be listening from the comforts of my own grassy knoll - arms all airplane, legs all jello, plenty of room for a spin, or a whirl, or let’s be real… probably both. Dance with me for this one, friends!
Can you stand up? [stand up, stand up]
I do believe it’s working.
Good.
