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LJ Idol 17: A Voice that Could Shatter Glass (and the Worst Superhero Name Ever)
"I think your problem is that you just let people get to you. You shouldn't care what they say or think. It doesn't affect you, let it go."
This was the advice a friend of mine gave me a week ago. Another friend gave it to me a month ago. Yet a different friend gave this advice to me several months ago. At least a few friends have told me this repeatedly over the years. And if you go back a decade or two, my mother and father both told me this repeatedly.
As you can tell, I really suck at taking advice.
It's good advice, too. It really is. On the rare occasion where I take it, I save myself headaches and untold irritation and grievances. I skip over conversations that quickly escalate into fights and usually result in hurt feelings, mostly mine.
And yet. And yet… I suck at taking advice.
When I was in elementary school and middle school, I was a total wallflower. I stood in the shadows and kept quiet. I obeyed all the rules, brushed my teeth twice a day, said my prayers, and kept my nose clean.
I was miserable.
I didn't have any friends. I felt like a fraud.
I had all these thoughts, and opinions, and I kept them to myself.
Then I met a boy. His name was Chris. I was eleven at the time, he was probably the same age. I remember that he had the whitest blond hair and very blue eyes. I was the fat girl in glasses that sat next to him in English class. Chris was deaf. He had an interpreter who sat to his side and translated the teacher into sign language so that he could follow along the conversation.
Chris, as I recall, asked questions. He made eloquent points (for an eleven year old boy). He was smart and brave and very handsome (in my humble eleven year old girl opinion). I had the biggest crush on him. So I talked my mother into taking me to a class on American Sign Language (ASL). I spent months learning basic signs so that I could have a conversation with this boy without the help of his interpreter.
The school year ended and I never saw him again. I don't know what happened to him. I do remember the day he kissed my cheek. Me, the ugly fat girl with glasses, got a kiss from this handsome wonderful boy, simply because I spoke to him.
I don't know if it was pity or loneliness or genuine affection. Honestly, I don't really care. It's a memory that I will always cherish, and I don't know if I've ever shared it with anyone before this post.
My little sister was born with a lot of health problems. A speech impediment was one of the more obvious challenges she faced. She had a tongue thrust and couldn't pronounce either the letter "R" or the letter "L". As my given name is Rachel, this meant she couldn't say my name.
She called me "Ocken." I have no idea where she got that nickname, but it grew into something more. It became a talisman. Ocken was charged with a special task, a sacred duty, to protect a little girl who couldn't speak for herself from bullies who picked on her and made her cry. I, the shy fat girl with glasses who never got into trouble, got into an actual fight to defend her. There were punches and slaps exchanged. It was terrifying. It was exhilarating.
My sister was in and out of hospitals for seven years, and I was her most frequent companion and playmate. We fought viciously, like siblings do, and loved ferociously, like siblings do. When doctors or nurses would come to talk to her, I would translate for her so that they knew what she was saying. I remember being so frustrated. How could they not understand her when what she was saying was as plain as day to me?
She grew up, thankfully cured by the miracles of modern medicine, and eventually found her own voice. Trust me when I say she doesn't need me to speak for her anymore. In fact, sometimes, I can't get her to shut up. "RACHEL!!!!!!!!!!!"
In college, I underwent an intellectual revolution. I learned about bigotry and prejudice and hatred that kept people voiceless. Women who hit glass ceilings and are named "BITCH" when they dare to think they can play in the Boy's Club. Racial minorities who are denied the same rights as their white kindred because of the pigment of their skin.
I learned that there are people who are too afraid to speak up on their behalf, who are unable to cry out in their defense, who are too cowed to scream their defiance.
I know the pain of isolation. I know the loneliness of fear.
So, I will comment when I hear something that upsets me or offends me, whether it be a rude customer in a store, or a boss who disparages his female staff. I will call you out when you say things that are hateful or hurtful. I will defend those who are unwilling or unable to defend themselves.
I will not be afraid (even though so often I am terrified). I will not be quiet (even when it would be better for me in the long run). I will not mind my own business (because I will make it my business).
I will not let it go.
I will not stop caring.
I will not because I cannot. I learned to speak because someone was interested in my thoughts. I learned that my voice can be used to help those who cannot help themselves.
Perhaps this is my meaning, my purpose in being. Perhaps I’m a ridiculous fool with a grandiose and distorted idea of her own value. If you're interested in telling me what you think, I'm interested in hearing it.
But rest assured, I almost always have something to say in return. Inside my mind, there is an ugly fat girl with glasses cheering me on.
This entry was written in response to the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
therealljidol Challenge 17: Open Topic. There will (probably) be voting for this week's entries. I will make sure to link to the poll once it is put up and I would appreciate it if you would vote for me if you enjoy my entry. As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
This was the advice a friend of mine gave me a week ago. Another friend gave it to me a month ago. Yet a different friend gave this advice to me several months ago. At least a few friends have told me this repeatedly over the years. And if you go back a decade or two, my mother and father both told me this repeatedly.
As you can tell, I really suck at taking advice.
It's good advice, too. It really is. On the rare occasion where I take it, I save myself headaches and untold irritation and grievances. I skip over conversations that quickly escalate into fights and usually result in hurt feelings, mostly mine.
And yet. And yet… I suck at taking advice.
When I was in elementary school and middle school, I was a total wallflower. I stood in the shadows and kept quiet. I obeyed all the rules, brushed my teeth twice a day, said my prayers, and kept my nose clean.
I was miserable.
I didn't have any friends. I felt like a fraud.
I had all these thoughts, and opinions, and I kept them to myself.
Then I met a boy. His name was Chris. I was eleven at the time, he was probably the same age. I remember that he had the whitest blond hair and very blue eyes. I was the fat girl in glasses that sat next to him in English class. Chris was deaf. He had an interpreter who sat to his side and translated the teacher into sign language so that he could follow along the conversation.
Chris, as I recall, asked questions. He made eloquent points (for an eleven year old boy). He was smart and brave and very handsome (in my humble eleven year old girl opinion). I had the biggest crush on him. So I talked my mother into taking me to a class on American Sign Language (ASL). I spent months learning basic signs so that I could have a conversation with this boy without the help of his interpreter.
The school year ended and I never saw him again. I don't know what happened to him. I do remember the day he kissed my cheek. Me, the ugly fat girl with glasses, got a kiss from this handsome wonderful boy, simply because I spoke to him.
I don't know if it was pity or loneliness or genuine affection. Honestly, I don't really care. It's a memory that I will always cherish, and I don't know if I've ever shared it with anyone before this post.
My little sister was born with a lot of health problems. A speech impediment was one of the more obvious challenges she faced. She had a tongue thrust and couldn't pronounce either the letter "R" or the letter "L". As my given name is Rachel, this meant she couldn't say my name.
She called me "Ocken." I have no idea where she got that nickname, but it grew into something more. It became a talisman. Ocken was charged with a special task, a sacred duty, to protect a little girl who couldn't speak for herself from bullies who picked on her and made her cry. I, the shy fat girl with glasses who never got into trouble, got into an actual fight to defend her. There were punches and slaps exchanged. It was terrifying. It was exhilarating.
My sister was in and out of hospitals for seven years, and I was her most frequent companion and playmate. We fought viciously, like siblings do, and loved ferociously, like siblings do. When doctors or nurses would come to talk to her, I would translate for her so that they knew what she was saying. I remember being so frustrated. How could they not understand her when what she was saying was as plain as day to me?
She grew up, thankfully cured by the miracles of modern medicine, and eventually found her own voice. Trust me when I say she doesn't need me to speak for her anymore. In fact, sometimes, I can't get her to shut up. "RACHEL!!!!!!!!!!!"
In college, I underwent an intellectual revolution. I learned about bigotry and prejudice and hatred that kept people voiceless. Women who hit glass ceilings and are named "BITCH" when they dare to think they can play in the Boy's Club. Racial minorities who are denied the same rights as their white kindred because of the pigment of their skin.
I learned that there are people who are too afraid to speak up on their behalf, who are unable to cry out in their defense, who are too cowed to scream their defiance.
I know the pain of isolation. I know the loneliness of fear.
So, I will comment when I hear something that upsets me or offends me, whether it be a rude customer in a store, or a boss who disparages his female staff. I will call you out when you say things that are hateful or hurtful. I will defend those who are unwilling or unable to defend themselves.
I will not be afraid (even though so often I am terrified). I will not be quiet (even when it would be better for me in the long run). I will not mind my own business (because I will make it my business).
I will not let it go.
I will not stop caring.
I will not because I cannot. I learned to speak because someone was interested in my thoughts. I learned that my voice can be used to help those who cannot help themselves.
Perhaps this is my meaning, my purpose in being. Perhaps I’m a ridiculous fool with a grandiose and distorted idea of her own value. If you're interested in telling me what you think, I'm interested in hearing it.
But rest assured, I almost always have something to say in return. Inside my mind, there is an ugly fat girl with glasses cheering me on.
This entry was written in response to the
therealljidol Challenge 17: Open Topic. There will (probably) be voting for this week's entries. I will make sure to link to the poll once it is put up and I would appreciate it if you would vote for me if you enjoy my entry. As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
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I had a cousin who was deaf. I also took ASL classes when I was young so I could speak to him. I remember at one point when I was four or five dressing up in this fur coat I had and being ridiculous for his entertainment because I was the only person his age who could speak to him. Of course, I remember none of it.
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Hehehehe. I actually still remember a fair bit. If need be, I can use it. I even translated for someone back in the day when I was a candy stripper at a hospital ER. With lots of pauses for, "what?"
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My friend Julie had a deaf boyfriend in high school. He lived in a different town. When he called her on the phone, they used one of those relay operators. Usually, the operator was a lady. It was weird cuz the boy was very sweet and say very sweet things, but Julie would hear them from a middle aged lady. It eventually weirded her out and they broke up. It was amusuing though.
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I've used relay operators before for work, and they can make things awkward. They really do repeat everything and aren't allowed to ask/answer questions.
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I really think you have a good way of telling a story. I enjoy reading about how peoples past mold them into the person they are today.
I am pretty curious about Chris, have you searched from him at all, maybe online or something? Does your sister still call you Ocken to this day?
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Alas, I cannot remember Chris's last name. So I've had no luck in finding him again. :(
I'm glad you enjoyed the entry! Thank you for letting me know!
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*hugs*
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It's strange to realize that I don't share much of myself, and it's something I've noticed in this contest. I tend to skirt around "me" and go more with "my ideas."
I'm glad you enjoyed it. *hugs back*
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~*~
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And, yet again I will say, this is why I sit back and watch the show when you get into arguments/debates about things -- so often we're on the same side and you can say things about a thousand times better than I can!! :)
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And here I thought you just enjoyed those moments when my irritation overrode my common sense. *grins*
Thank you very much for the comment. It means a lot.
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I think it's wonderful, even if I cannot entirely agree on your stance. Brilliant hon! You - and your writing - rock!
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*squishes you*
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I think I annoy my friends, but they love me anyway.
Thanks so much for the comment and compliment!
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You're ahead of me :) I'm still on the fence between saying something/not saying something much of the time...I think it's partly my lifelong fear of being labeled (I have an aversion to the B word like you wouldn't believe) and partly afraid I wouldn't be able to verbally hold my ground. Why that is, I have no idea.
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My problem? I have opinions about things. Lots of them. I have to remind myself that intelligent people listen 85% of the time and speak 15% of the time. I think it keeps me out of more trouble. ;)
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Hehehe, I dunno. Too many mes running around might be a sign of the apocalypse.
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I think that's a wise statement.
Thank you for the comment!
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*hugs* How are you feeling?
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Go You! And the the ugly, fat girl with glasses inside cheering you on! I commend you for your honesty and desire to better the world. Grandiose or no :)