LJ Idol 17: A Voice that Could Shatter Glass (and the Worst Superhero Name Ever)

[bewize]

"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 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.

Comments

[bewize.livejournal.com]

Hehhe, probably because you haven't heard it go, "Umm, excuse me? Say that again!" very often.

I think I annoy my friends, but they love me anyway.

Thanks so much for the comment and compliment!