The Beginning of "My Story"

I am not really sure how or where to begin my story. I know this fact: I was not a perfect kid and God knows I didn’t look like one. I had crooked teeth, scrawny skinny limbs and many times, green hair tinged from the chorine of our local pool. As I graduated from middle school and entered high school my personal self-worth was amazingly still intact, despite having worn headgear, being teased in 7^th grade about being a member of the “Itty Bitty Titty Committee” and choosing not to 
“go out” with any of the boys that showed interest in me, despite my previously mentioned flaws…I knew at the tender age of eleven or twelve there just was no point. I wasn’t going to “marry” any of these boys and didn’t even really want to begin a relationship. I knew a whole new batch of older boys would be at the high school I’d soon be attending, as well as the pool where I worked out about 30 minutes away. Why get tied down at such a young age?

The boys did, however, show an interest in me the summer between my junior & senior year when I belatedly reached puberty and began getting some curves. At the time, it’s too bad I couldn’t embrace the “new” me. Instead, I bemoaned the stretch marks on my breasts and was bummed I could no longer wear my cool red & white striped tube top or some of the fashions of the day geared toward the flat-chested teens (me). It was a bit traumatic as I had been happy with my body. My mom offered a breast reduction if my newly formed body was too much for me emotionally. Just knowing that made me feel better. I had options, AND a cool mom who somehow knew just the right thing to say (even though I knew she was just throwing the offer out there for me, knowing I’d grow accustomed to my “new” body).

My personality did not tip the scales of being perfect either. I was driven, for sure. I was highly competitive, with myself. It might have had something to do with the fact that years earlier at my first synchronized swim meet I ended up in second place, from the bottom. I was horrible. On a positive note (and I’ve always been able to see two sides to every coin) I didn’t get last place and I could only move up in position at future swim meets. I think this might have been where I began making lists and goals and visualizing things happening, because eventually my swimming abilities improved, as did my placing.

My inner strength was strong too; I often spoke up about injustice when I saw it occurring, though I had not learned the fine art of being soft-spoken or doing so in an eloquent manner. Still, I loved learning, my teachers, and tried to do the right thing. I generally could look at things in a more mature fashion and see the long-term consequences. So my parents were lucky in that some of the normal turbulent teenaged rebellion was spared on them from me. No getting drunk, or high. Yes, there was the time I took one puff of Shelley’s joint in 8^th grade in back of the school on the grass field. And in about 9^th grade or so I may have taken one puff as another joint was being passed around at a party…I honestly don’t remember. I do remember this; I didn’t want to spend money on drugs or alcohol (it helped that I didn’t have any disposable income). I didn’t want to waste the training I was doing at the swim pool. I didn’t want to feel any different (and I didn’t because one puff of whatever it was that I smoked didn’t constitute a “high”) and I didn’t want to turn out like a distant relative whom I thought was an alcoholic (but really suffered from being bi-polar). But the really big reason I didn’t want to do “bad” stuff was because I didn’t want to let my parents down; specifically, my dad who bragged about us to EVERY one.

So here’s the conundrum: where do I begin when I don’t really have an endpoint in mind? I am of the mindset that no matter how old I grow to be, I will never “arrive.” I intend to be a lifelong learner. I’ve too much to learn. Still, one must begin at some point, and so, too, will I. Here is my story.