English Is My First Language
Do you remember the lined writing paper we used in elementary school? It had a top line, dotted mid line and a base line. It had a funny antique look and it ripped like heck if you were an aggressive eraser (me). The paper was thin and soft and definitely had a dusty smell.
In lower school, I had a chronic erasing problem. So much so that my “best,” non-living, “best friends” was the black tape dispenser. I made sure that thing was close by at all times knowing I’d need it to repair the rips I caused by my aggressive erasing. I despised the moment when my number 2 pencil lost it’s pink rubbery top because I knew the green metal would wreck havoc on the whole situation. To top it off, my teacher would always hang our writing on the wall and it was always obvious which one was mine. It was the one that looked like it had gone to war.
It was clear I didn’t trust myself as a writer.
In high school I remember watching my beloved, well respected and VERY corky English teacher stand in front of the class. She would lift her leg onto a nearby chair and ramble on about a great piece of American literature. This was impossible for me. In my heart, I do believe this woman liked me, just not in the classroom. I was a thorn. I spent more time starring out the window or attempting to pass notes. Feeling disconnected is a generous way to describe it. Let’s just say I became extremely familiar with the Cliff Notes section at our local Borders Books store.
It was clear I didn’t trust myself as a reader.
I continued to painstakingly make my way through English and any other formal writer expression I needed to complete. “If I can make it through the next four years, I won’t really need to worry about this writing thing any longer.” WRONG.
I endured the biggest sucker punch of my academic life while studying abroad in Australia. And, let’s call a spade a spade…. I was HARDLY studying. Maybe that was the problem. Anyway, towards the end of the semester I needed to write an Economics paper on the famous Supply and Demand theory. I might as well have been jumping out of an airplane AND hiking Mt. Everest all in the same day. It was THAT HARD.
As the teacher’s assistant handed back the dreaded paper, I noticed an unusual amount of writing on it. In red ink he wrote (direct quote) “Is English your first language? You write like a Japanese student.” Woozer!!!! Pain, embarrassment and shame all wrapped in one. These are the zings we never forget.
I reflect back on these “teachers” daily. I see how I gave my power away. I allowed the eraser, the large chapter book and my economic’s professor be the ones in charge. For years, these narratives ruled MY ROOST, I hid under them. I didn’t have enough courage to stand up to them. It wasn’t until I looked closely at these subtle moments, held them with love and compassion, was I able to take my power back and let those stories go.
So dear reader, is there a person or event that still holds YOUR power? Do you still allow that narrative to be in charge? I invite you to take a look at these tiny moments. There might be something beautiful ready to grow instead. As always, thanks for reading.
