You will write an essay telling me who you think you are. And I mean an essay, not one word written a thousand times.
Ok. So I assume I am writing a thousand words.
First, I wish I had done this at 18. For all I know I did, and the motorcycle accident concussions, teaching trauma and current Country On Fire Circus have wiped it from memory. Who I think I am is a difficult question, as I feel I'm still trying to figure that out myself. But I can authoritatively write about the roles I have played and how they inform identity: wife, mother, teacher.
I am not someone who ever wanted to get married. I did not wear toilet paper veils or design bedsheet wedding dresses as a child. I liked horses, I wanted a horse, I learned about horses and never got a horse. I attempted to perform at a talent show in third grade only to bail at curtain because I had not prepared anything. With no understanding of performance outside of choir class, where the songs are given to you and rehearsed in class, I foolishly believed I could show up and just do something. Natalie Last Name Forgotten took ballet, and she performed before me at the talent show.
And I did not.
First lesson in rehearsing, planning and commitment. And also realized I was on my own, nobody was going to help me or enroll me in ballet or piano. I have vague memories of asking but those additional classes cost money. The closest I came was a "Tumbling and Trampoline" class at the rec center, where I epically failed at executing a simple cartwheel. In third grade, however, my great good friend Debbie Rice and I did short skits for Mr. Weisheit's class. He was a great Oak tree hippie of a man who fostered our creative needs.
I got married because Jim asked, and I didn't know what else to do. I loved him, and he seemed like he had a plan for his life. I loved theatre in high school, but the idea of New York scared the crap out of me. I'm not a great wife---I don't cook, I'm not particularly sexy or can even stand to be touched and I hate sports. Because of his influence, I went to college, kept myself employed and learned what support actually is. Like Forrest, that's all I have to say about that.
I never wanted children. I was quite vocal about this fact. I had not had a nurturing childhood so to me, kids were something you had because you were supposed to, and the baseline was to raise them by guilt and keep them alive. I had no interest in repeating a family cyclecurse. But Jim pushed the issue a bit, and I relented. I am not a great mom. Many of my poor decisions were based on listening to voice of my own mother in my head because I have no idea how to parent. I have a lot of regrets, and no feeling of success. My children are amazing despite how I raised them.
I started teaching because I failed at theatre. Since "Those who can't do, teach" is a common quote I have heard, it seemed a logical progression to follow. I gave up time with my family, missed warning signs with my children's mental health and flirted with alcoholism in the name of running a strong department. Whether I was successful is highly subjective, and depends on who you ask. I failed first at Littleton, run out because I could not keep my mouth shut about the inequitable and racist choices the principal was making, only to fail again at Hinkley after four years through Covid. I am now at Kennedy, building a baseline for the next person to succeed.
Proofreading these 557 words, I realize I could have written one word a thousand times and had the same impact: failure.
I bet if I had done this at 18 it would have been infinitely more positive, had more passion or fire. Anger. Frustration. Something. Anything. I identified with Bender in Breakfast Club,even though I was likely more Allison in hiding myself in fear. I did such an impressive job, I cannot even answer the question "Who do you think you are?"
Sigh.
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