ten

Today's Blathering is a collaboration entry for Wordgoddess. The assignment was the word "ten". I chose to interpret the number as an age. Wordgoddess, by the way, is a particular group of women who have online journals. I've been a member, off and on, for a couple of years. Had to quit because I was too swamped with work, recently rejoined because I'm realizing that the Blatherings entries I like best tend to be ones I wrote for Wordgoddess; it's a great group for writing inspiration. We have a separate mailing list where we post updates, encouragement and support, ventings, and news. (Warning to those thinking of applying: Wordgoddess is at max. capacity right now, so is not accepting new members.) But on to the current collab... When I was ten: My mom made most of my clothes as well as my sister's and brother's. She was a good seamstress and saved a lot of money for our family that way. She didn't know much about fashion, but our clothes were clean and fit us well, and that's what mattered. I still have a sweater that Mom knit for me when I got older. It's ratty now, coming apart, but I can't bring myself to throw it out even though I know I'll never wear it again. I wore pink horn-rimmed glasses. AUGH. I'm sure I picked them out myself, insisting that they were the ones I wanted, while my parents tried to gently sway me to more flattering styles. My main buddies were Cathy Rutland (who is sitting in the first row, second from left), Shena Belleghem (2nd row, 4th from left) and Kristine Creamer (first row, far right). Cathy and I still see other a couple times a month, usually for lunch, sometimes a movie. Outside of family, Cathy's known me longer than anyone. I read a LOT. I had the bad habit of reading a book WHILE walking to school, and then back home again. Can't remember if I ever walked into anything. No wonder I needed glasses so early. When I was ten, I was taking piano lessons. I wasn't that crazy about practising, wanted to read instead. Sometimes I'd prop an open book up on the piano music stand and then read it while I went through scales and arpeggios and triads like an automaton, knowing my parents wouldn't realize I wasn't focussing on what I was playing. I'd turn pages between exercises. Years later, those years of piano lessons paid off: I taught piano on my own, had about 25-30 students when we lived out in the country. I organized recitals, prepared them for Conservatory exams. And got frustrated when some of them didn't practice properly, of course. The theory I learned during lessons helped me when I started playing flute, guitar, Celtic harp and other instruments. So weird to look at old class photos of people you haven't seen since that year. The faces look so young, but you remember the personalities without the "little kid" factor. Seeing the bullies still evokes a tinge of the same fear. When I was ten, I was the only Asian in my class at school. This was true throughout my grade school and high school years. I grew up in Bramalea, a suburb of Toronto; there weren't many non-Caucasians in the area back then. Here's a Blathering I wrote about the experience. I look at the teacher in the photo and still feel a flash of childhood dislike. I remember this teacher wanted the kids to like him too much, so much that when the kids made fun of someone, he was more likely to make fun of them as well. This was drilled home when I was once a target, and I've never forgotten the incident; up to then, I had always assumed my teacher would look out for me (and the other students), that I could count on him or her to be objective and fair. The rational part of me thinks, "Give the guy a break! He didn't realize what he was doing", but the emotional memories of that one incident have been hardwired into my memories. Scary how childhood stuff like that can stick with you the rest of your life, affecting how you approach people and situations. When I was ten, I didn't confide in friends or family about this sort of stuff. About anything deeply personal, really. I kept it bottled up inside me, percolating through the darkest part of my psyche, part of the mix that would shape my adult life. It's a wonder I'm not a total basket case now. Though Jeff might disagree at times, I suppose. :-) If I could go back and give my ten-year-old self some advice, I'd tell her, "Stand up for yourself. You're a good person; don't let anyone else make you feel differently." May 2004 comments: Read Blatherchat | Post in Blatherchat | Livejournal comments