Creative Nonfiction – Essay 2 Draft Marjorie Papa
Learning Lessons
The First Grade. Think about it. Several images appear in my mind. For many kids, it was a big deal. We no longer found ourselves in the shelter of kindergarten. Now, we were entering the world in which we would be in school for the entire day. We even had a lunch time where we would be sitting with the students from the upper grades. Here is where we were educated on higher academic levels. Yet it was still a time of innocence. Yes, learning became more challenging. Lessons became more defined and tangible. And some of us discovered another novelty: we now had a few more choices. And for me, one of those bigger choices was simply whether I wanted to sit in the cafeteria on the “cold lunch” side with my lunchbox from home…or the “hot lunch” side where I could buy my meal from the school. You could learn a lot from the freedom of having a choice, even if it began in a lunchroom.
Allow me to illustrate this by using a story about a 7 year old child in the First Grade. I knew this child very well and I have quite an extraordinary memory, if I do say so myself. Therefore, I know that this story is factual and accurate. She was not really any different from the other students. She enjoyed this new way of learning. She made friends and had one in particular who was her best friend. They had the same teacher, which means that they sat together in the designated section for the students in this teacher’s class. The lunchroom was as I said: divided by the “cold” and “hot” lunch sides.
It was a Friday afternoon. I remember well because she was excited about sleeping over her best friend’s house that night. It was the fall, although which month I can’t exactly recall. I’ll get to how I know the season in a few moments. Somewhere in the midst of their talking about later that night, another topic came up in conversation. Someone asked if anyone thought this certain Second Grade girl was pretty. Well, our girl told her best friend that she thought the girl was ugly. Now who can really say why she said this. True, it wasn’t nice. But keep in mind that she was 7. Maybe the Second Grade girl was mean to her; maybe they liked the same boy. That’s not the important thing. No, the important thing is that a boy from this Second Grade girl’s class, who happened to really like her, overheard this conversation between the friends.
As the end of the school day neared, the girls were even more excited about their soon-to-be sleepover. Just about an hour before the day was over, our girl’s teacher told her that the Second Grade teacher, let’s call her Mrs. Pace, wanted to see her. The girl had no clue why but had no fear since it was her brother’s teacher.
As she entered the room, she heard the Mrs. Pace asking her brother what the girl was like at home. In his innocence, he replied: “Well, she’s kinda bossy,” while the girl approached the teacher’s desk. Mrs. Pace was cutting brown, yellow, and orange construction paper in the shape of leaves, which is why I am confident that this was the fall. With barely a glance up, Mrs. Pace asked our girl if she said that so-and-so was ugly. At 7 years old, it’s hard to lie to a teacher. The girl wasn’t sure what to do. She was wringing her hands and felt a heat flush up from her neck to the top of her head. And so she replied: “Yes…but I was just kidding.” Mrs. Pace then responded: “Well we don’t kid in the Second Grade. Now I want you to turn around and tell this class that you’re ugly.”
So, I turned around and repeated the words “I’m ugly” to a class full of Second Graders, including my brother. I can actually hear the words in my head clear as a bell. But this teacher needed to teach me a lesson. Not an academic lesson, but a life-lesson. She was a successful teacher because I never forgot the lesson she taught me.
After a few years, I revealed this lesson that I learned. The few people who I allowed to be privy to this information tried to tell me that it wasn’t true. They pleaded with me not to believe it, as if it were an “old wives tale” or an “urban legend.” But how many of us still wait a half hour to swim? Or still glance in the backseat of our car to check that no one is behind us ready to attack? So I more or less kept this to myself. But it was still something I believe.
Let’s fast forward 20 some-odd years. I have the love of an amazing man. We were recently married. It still amazes me that he truly loves me. He looks at me like I’m the only person in the world for him. I still question how this could possibly be true! What have I ever done to deserve him? In the months before we married, I questioned this quite often. Often enough that it worried and stressed out my husband….and me to be honest. What was it that made me feel so doubtful? So I decided, for my sake and for my now-husband’s, to seek help finding these answers.
Well, one of the answers was not what I expected. The medical professionals that I went to see all had the same answer: I’m bipolar. Now this is another life lesson. What does one learn from that? Well, for one it gives a reason and clarity for certain behaviors and actions. I also learned that there is medication for people such as me. And I learned that these medications can actually help, even an entire year later.
Now I’m sure many of you wonder how it is that I can share this personal and private information about me. These are both truthful glimpses into the picture book of my life. And that is something that I do have the answer to. It is another facet in the inner file-cabinet of my mind. I can share this because I am telling you a story. It’s like in elementary school, perhaps the First Grade, when the teacher reads as the students sit in a circle, listening. I am the storyteller. It’s as if I am reading an excerpt from my own memoir. However, I am not emotionally attached to it at this exact moment. No, I am simply reading from my inner pages. A story is a story: it’s just how you can share it. I hope my story hasn’t made anyone feel sorry for me. I have another secret weapon. My one perk for the lesson I learned from being bipolar is this: I have a prescription for Xanax.
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