I Pray You, Remember The Porter.

Confession: I was a really awkward adolescent.

I am not entirely sure what happened to me in my early adolescence, but I somehow decided to become "that girl" who wore her teenage brother's clothes, listened to awful music and identified more easily with young adolescent males than females. When I did finally decide that I wanted people to look at me and think "girl" .... I floundered. I went from looking like a girl dressed in boy's clothes to looking like a girl who liked girls.

As you can imagine, this did wonders on my self esteem (but, hey, adolescence does a number on everyone's self esteem). To cope, I became the "funny" friend - the cool girl friend who hung out with the guys "cuz she's like one of the guys." I managed to trade in my true thoughts in feelings for a mask of humor. It was comfortable, but had unforeseen side-effects - some of them long lasting....one of which I'd like to complain about right now: I don't think anyone takes me seriously.

Humor is great for a lot of things. It makes people like you, it makes you seem kind of witty, it's useful when you're in a large group. Humor can be used to deflect off-putting questions, or feelings you just don't want to deal with. Humor can save you from all sorts of little anxieties - which is why I relied/rely on it so heavily. It has some serious benefits.

But the price for all those benefits is that I feel like I'm a walking joke (not all the time, let's not be melodramatic...). I occasionally feel that, when I have a serious thought on something, it gets brushed off because I'm just silly. Or, when my incredibly intelligent friends begin conversing about authors, etc, I assume (yes, that evil word) that they expect that I won't know any of the books or authors they are talking about because, well, perhaps I just don't operate on the same level of intelligence as they do (...I know...what a nerdy thing to be insecure about). *disclaimer: I am fully aware that my insecurities do not accurately portray the feelings of others.

So, it leads me to this point where I feel like I want to jump out and say to everyone I know, "Hey! Surprise! I'm really super smart!" I may be awkward and uncomfortable and, sure, somewhat average in many respects - but I'm an intelligent human being! I have a large compilation of complex and well written essays on abstract or 'dry' topics that prove it. Accept me!

For some reason, I feel like this is my biggest social hurdle. I desperately want people to see that I am smart. I want them to accept me into their circle of intelligence, but I fear that my *ahem* ambivalent nature deters from the fact that I am an intellectual equal and therefore causes people to think that I am somehow simple minded. And, while I could be worrying about whether or not people see me as beautiful or talented or whatever other female insecurities are out there, this is the one that affects me most deeply.

In short, I really want people to like me for what I can truly bring to a group or a friendship - and not just the comic relief. If people would give me the chance, they'd see I'm deeper than the drunken porter or Juliet's nursemaid.

I can be a complex character in the novel of life, too.

A Great And Terrible Stranger, Summer.

The recent, warm Minnesota weather has made me a little nostalgic. I remember hot and humid summer days from my childhood.



I spent them playing outside with my brother, and our friends. We would climb the tallest tree we could find and jump from the roof of the shed in our backyard.

We would take old cardboard boxes to a big grassy hill and "sled" down on them. (We even walked back UP the hill to do it all again). We would ride our bikes to the PX and buy french fries and melted cheese :)



We would save our allowance all month to buy a beanie baby and some pokemon cards. We did extra chores for extra money, and sold popsicles and lemonade.

We went rollerblading. We went bowling. We caught snakes and spiders. We had pet rocks. We drank water from a hose. We rode a wagon down the hill and hit the side of our house :) We came in when the street lights came on.

We didn't have cell phones. We checked in with Mom every now and again or had to call from the nearest friend's house. We played baseball in the yard, tried to catch turtles at the pond, and played night games. We played tag, chase, dead man walking, "town", jump rope.

We (at least Kam and I) even found a way to make yard work fun.

We didn't wear shoes if we didn't have to. We swam and played in the sprinkler. We hiked through the woods near our house, built forts, had wars with people who aligned themselves with different forts.

Even during the school year, we just wanted to be outside. We were outside when we waited for the bus. We wanted to play outside at recess. We came home and wanted to be outside until it was dark.

We even wanted to play in the rain. And sometimes...we did.

It makes me sad to watch how kids these days don't do any of that. They are inside all the time. There will be no memories of broken bones and cardboard box adventures. They won't look back and say "remember when we played freeze tag in our backyard?" There will be no taste of hose water lingering in their mouths, no memories of being muddy and dirty.

Instead, kids today live in a sterile and controlled environment. Hand sanitizer every 3 seconds. Filtered water. Cell phones and electronics that confine them in their rooms, basements, friends houses, cars.

It feels like summer has become a great and terrible stranger.