Scattered Memories and The Invisible Girl

 Part 3

No one ever really noticed me in school unless I made myself noticed, and I did that quite a bit much to my own embarrassment later in life. Having a time machine would be great for these sorts of things, but we're not here to talk about those moments just yet. Where here to discuss why I feel I was so invisible.

The first sign I had any special talents came when I was in Kindergarten. We were coloring the coloring pages that had been handed to us. On my page was a little girl with a beautiful little dress on with hair to her shoulders. This little girl to me desperately needed red hair. I can remember thinking why do people call red hair red when it's clearly orange? I looked down at the crayons on my side of the desk comparing the two crayons in question. Yep, red hair was really orange. At least the red hair I had seen anyway. I had noticed previously in the school year that when other kids would color their character's hair red they would all use the red crayon which to me ruined the coloring page altogether. So I picked up my orange crayon and I boldly stood alone seated in my chair coloring my own little girl's hair orange. She looked just like people with red hair usually did that I had seen.

Now that I look back on those years I realize that should have been the first sign that I would be a future artist, but yet how was I supposed to know? I was only a kid, and for years and years after that, I would grieve over my friend John Davids's ability to draw. I would sit at the desk beside him and watch him draw his figures and yearn, and wish that I could draw such things only to find out in high school when I took an art class that I actually could draw.

Another thing that I remember from my childhood that pointed towards me being an artist later in life was my great desire to draw my own comic book strips like the Peanuts Gang. I would spend hours drawing simple shapes, nothing fancy but simple shapes with cute fun names that I would come up with that I wanted to turn into my very own cartoon version of the peanuts gang. I never was able to do that but I remember it well and I still have that desire to this day.

I was always a creative child making my own doll clothes and my own paper dolls, and often drifting off into my own fantasy world with made-up stories floating around in my head. It was better than tv. I could never keep my mind focused on anything redeemed boring to me for more than 5 minutes. Which I guess is why I brought home bad grades in math and biology, and why I got ignored when the academic teams were picked. No one wanted an average child on an academic team. It wasn't until college that I learned I could write short stories and poetry. I even won a few contests and came in second place in the state in the KHEA writers contest. I know if I had kept on entering besides those 2 times I would have eventually won first place, but I didn't. Maybe someday huh?

One thing I have learned in life is that if you really want to do something you will. Below is a picture I drew of myself. It's never too late in life even if you do feel like the invisible girl or guy to discover something about yourself that you never knew you could do.

All through life and growing up I felt like the one struggling to make friends. The one struggling to fit in. The outcast, the forgotten. The invisible one. The shadow is always there but no one notices. Life is hard and the only one who can change the way you see things or react to things is you. I still struggle with all these things but I've learned not to let other people get me down. I've learned to love myself and fall back out of love with myself after a bad relationship, and then pick back up the pieces again after that and start over. No matter what happens in life I will never let them see me sweat, and I will always find some way to survive with God's help of course. I could never do all I've done without God, and some things I've done without God and it was a disaster but we will talk about that at a later date.

The Odd Doll

 One of my favorite teachers I ever had was Wilma Roberts, my kindergarten teacher. She was always so kind and seemed to love us kids. She never made any difference between us, and always tried to be fair. I had brought one of my Barbies to school, against my mother's wishes. I had sneaked her in my backpack. She didn't look like my other Barbie's though. She looked like another doll maybe a Tuesday Taylor doll but I am still to this day not sure what she was because I had her farther back than I can remember, which was true for most of my dolls. Anyway, I brought her to school one day to play with at recess. Anyway, this doll was special. I had never seen one like her before and none of the kids had any that were like her either. I had always had this doll. I don't remember when I first got her because as far back as I can remember I had always had her, which is the case for most of my dolls. (Why is this so painful for me to write about? Anyway, it is. I need to explore that later.) This blonde-haired little girl wanted to see her and so I allowed her to. She kept her all day, much longer than what was favorable to me so I got tired of it and asked for her back and she then said no she's mine, not yours. I was in shock. The little girl was lying. That's when I told the teacher and the teacher then asked the class who's doll it was and I just knew the class would say hers because I wasn't very popular. I was the invisible outcast no one cared to like or get to know. At least that's how I felt, but to my surprise, almost the entire class said it was mine. They actually told the truth. I was shocked. I didn't know how they knew it was mine because Tee, that's what we will call the little girl in this story, had asked to borrow her much earlier in the day so not many people would have known that, but apparently they did, and I got my doll back, and I was happy because she wasn't just a doll to me she was a gift of love from my mother who was raising me. All my dolls were special to me, well most, lol. I didn't like the scary green Wizzard of Oz witch doll that my mom bought me, lol. That thing scared the pee out of me. Below is a picture of the doll I was talking about in this story. Oh, by the way, I am just writing my memories for my child in case he wants to read about his mother one day. I hold no hard feelings towards anyone.

The First Day of Kindergarten

  The First Day of Kindergarten

Looking back I remember in the very, early years of childhood being filled with love and feeling such confidence. The family was always close. I felt so important like I was the center of the universe, and love wrapped around me like a warm blanket on a cozy winter day. It was a perfect world, and my mother was the author of it. She was my world. Wherever she was at I felt safe. My mother was perfect, I was perfect and my world was perfect.

That all changed on my first day of Kindergarten. I had never been to school before. I had no idea I would have to even go to such a foreign place. I felt as if I was being sent off to war in a scrap yard where wild animals and vicious tigers roamed. I was so scared. The very foundation I was standing on had been shaken and shaken hard. There were loud voices coming in every direction and chaos abounded. I was suddenly aware of my weight, my hair, my clothes, and my very insignificance, and of course my lack of ability to make friends. My world was now inside my head and it was just the beginning.

Strangers seemed to peer at me, inspecting me as if I were a bug. I clung to a family that had brought me here and I prayed they would never leave. buzzing chatter noisily continued for what seemed to be a lifetime. Then one by one parents and grown-ups slowly begin to leave. I was alone now, and with these Martians with children's faces, that and the teachers of course. I stood there looking onward assessing my doom. Then somewhere in the room, a cry was heard, a loud shattering cry. It was another child screaming with big huge elephant-sized tears running down their face. That's when I felt their pain. It was like my own, and before I knew it I was crying too.

The day went by and soon it was time to go home. Daddy had come to pick me up. I don't remember much about what happened after that day but I do remember mommy asking me how my day went and what all happened and I told her I cried and she asked me why did I cry and I said because the other kids were crying and so I cried too. Then we both looked at one another and we started laughing. I realized that I had not needed to cry and that I had only cried because I had felt the other kids' emotions. Sure I was scared and didn't want to be there but I was not a child who cried. I was my daddies child, and I was tough. That's when I got the devastating news that I was not done with school. I had to go back to that awful place for many days to come. I remember being so angry because of that, but the next day when I went back. I remembered my mother and me laughing over yesterday's events and I never cried that day or any other day over having to go to school. I just went after all mommy had told me if I didn't they would put them in jail and I never wanted that. So I sucked it up and went.