All the kids' homecoming pictures were up on facebook this weekend, and I'm looking at them, like, really? How do these children look so grown up, so cool, so attractive? Where is the gawky phase for this generation? I mean the really scary, as Cory would say "not quite human", gawky phase...do they skip it?
I saw a picture of a friend's daughter on my news feed, and I really just couldn't get over it. The girl was in heels and something adorably modest, but shoulder baring, and she looked so put together, confident, and just gorgeous...and she's 14! At 14, I could not have carried myself that way at gunpoint. Kudos to you, beautiful teenager's mother, for raising a girl so confident and at ease with herself.
Now let me share the story that came to mind of my troubled, awkward past. Ninth grade...are you ready?
In ninth grade, my best friend, Nicole and I, were not cool. I know this hard for you to imagine. We were funny only to ourselves and pretty much invisible to the opposite sex. We were devoid of breast tissue, fashion sense, and that altogether most important boy-getting factor: confidence.
We were so behind the times, that while everyone else was going to Bon Jovi concerts, we were busy worshipping our private heros: George Michael and an unknown male dancer on Dance Party USA that wore shades anytime he was in public. Yes, we were those girls.
Well, one day, Nicole and I decided to really show Northwestern Jr. High just how grown up and desirable we were by wearing high heels to school. This may be the first example of the truly atrocious judgment calls I have been known to make in my lifetime.
First, let's discuss the shoes. They were basic pumps with a mid-sized heel, summer white. That should tell it all right there. How far off the mark were we if we thought we were going to seduce middle school boys with shoes suitable for an aging pastor's wife? I smile at our innocence.
If I remember correctly, we tricked those puppies out with some mid-calf denim prairie skirts (one of which had a racy inch of eyelet all around the hem), and prepared to stop traffic. I really want this to be one of those feel-good stories like when Sissy Spacek in the original Carrie turned out to be really beautiful at the prom right before the bucket fell, but...sadly...no.
We showed up feeling super sexy and it lasted all of two minutes. As good as we might have imagined that we looked in those shoes, we had not thought about the fact that we still had to walk in them...in front of everyone: in front of the boys we thought were cute, in front of the girls we wished we could be like, in front of teachers who could not hide their pity.
And they clunked. Those mid-sized heels were chunky, heavy, and louder than thunder. Picture Nicole and I, a couple of skinny girls clomping down the hallways of Northwestern like Clydesdales. The faces of the crowd were first confused and then either disgusted or condescending. Grins were hid behind hands and open laughter was heard. Oh, God, the horror! To this day, I shudder. The more we tried to shrink from the crowd, the more attention we drew with each clumsy, uncoordinated footfall. My face didn't stop burning for six hours.
To this day, I do not know why we didn't think to just go home sick. The humiliation was all encompassing. It may have been years before I wore heels again in public. I still dream about that day sometimes. This single experience was the reason I spent good, quality time coaching Cory on how to walk in heels, and talked to her extensively about confidence. No one should have to go through what I went through.
I finally did get some confidence by the way. One item of clothing was responsible, and it wasn't shoes. In tenth grade, I had no better body than I'd had the year before, but I did procure a certain above-the-knee denim jean skirt with a zippered flounced ruffle that shook prettily when I walked. It was magic. My ass might still have been two inches wide, but in that skirt you wouldn't know it. It was the first time I remember feeling attractive in the body that I had. And wouldn't you know, feeling good enough was the only thing I ever really needed in the first place? People noticed.
If I could go back to junior high and high school with the confidence I have now, I think I could get Nicole and I in a lot of trouble. And perhaps that is why we were late bloomers in the first place.
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