Life: Day 11072

(August 5, 2000)

It�s not that I�m a grudgeholder per se, but I do value some nice, satisfying closure. And there�s something Unclosed that�s been bugging me for, well, twenty years or so.

I spent most of my gawkish character-shaping years in scratchy blue plaid with a bunch of other little kids in scratchy blue plaid, learning about Jesus and fractions in a rundown Catholic school in Waterbury, Connecticut. We progeny at Saint Margaret�s were a living snapshot of the general population of Waterbury, a blighted little burg that didn�t quite survive the closing of a brass factory and had, like all American towns, a �good part� and a �bad part.� In sixth grade I sat next to Beth , a girl from the "bad part.� Beth�s family was really poor, even for Waterbury, even for the �70s. She and her sister traded off on who wore the coat to school, until Sister Mary Shea found one for Beth. Beth had Meg Ryan�s scrappy blonde hairdo years before Meg Ryan, dancing blue eyes and a disarmingly crooked smile. Beth wore boy�s old scuffed shoes and baseball socks with her uniform. Beth was cool.

I guess I didn�t realize how much Beth talked until another girl pointed it out. Tracey was small and compact, very proud of her sparkling black and white saddle shoes, and wore a real gold cross on a real gold chain. Tracey's family lived on �the boulevard,� which was even better than the regular good part of town because it had huge houses, no stores, and a double row of maple trees. Tracey had her own roller skates. Tracey was a cheerleader.

Tracey chirped, �Ugh, Beth won�t shut UP. She�s always yakking about �my mom did this and my sister did that and then the dog barked and blah blah BLAH. She�s so BORING!��

I didn�t think Beth was the least bit boring. I liked Beth�s stories. I liked Beth�s stories better than Tracey�s cheers, which she spent the whole recess �practicing" until I wished she'd choke on her pom poms.

However, perhaps because of the blinding whiteness of the saddle shoes, I immediately assumed that Tracey must be right. Did I mention the roller skates? So if Beth is boring and I like Beth�well, the school was too pathetic to teach us Geometry but this Proof has one Conclusion: I AM BORING.

I don�t care. I like storytelling. I like hearing creative individuals spin colorful narratives of real live people dealing with groceries and the car battery and the cops and dogfood and cramps and food stamps and elections and surgery�well jeez�that�s the stuff, Tracey.

�Don�t you have some yelling and jumping to practice or something?�

Okay, so something-teen years is perhaps a little long to dwell on what I should�ve said to Little Miss Pom Pom. But I think I�m done dwelling now. I feel better. Yup, just telling you folks about it is some form of closure.

I recommend exercising all your demons-- even the ones in saddle shoes.