Josie – “Mom, I neeeeeeeeeed a new lunch bag.”
Me – “Why? What happened to yours? Did you lose it?”
Josie – “No, but _________ said that I couldn’t be a part of her cool lunch club unless I had a character on my lunch bag.”
Me – “A character?” ” Wait, you mean the owl on your lunch bag doesn’t count?”
Josie – “Yes, it needs to be a princess or something – you know like from a movie or something.”
Me – “Characters are lame. Owls are awesome! Start your own cool club.”
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Growing up is hard. We look to fit in – to blend in – to be accepted. I remember those days. Girl drama hasn’t changed much, but it does seem to start sooner. Or maybe I’m just too old to remember.
Though I do remember all too well how awful it felt to have kids make fun of you.
When I was in high school I lived with my dad, and he wasn’t/isn’t the most fashionable person. Just imagine going back to school shopping with your not-fashion-savvy-dad…………. there are no words really………so let’s just cut to the chase.
I wore LEE jeans in high school. They weren’t like the cooler looking version that is out today. No, these jeans had a giant brown LEE tag in the belt loop area on the back. There was no mistaking that they were LEE jeans, and they weren’t the kind of jeans that cool kids would wear. He bought me 4 pairs “because they were such a good deal”. And I didn’t have the heart to tell him that they weren’t very cute and that I didn’t really want to wear them. He was doing his best, and we were just getting used to living together – just him and I. So I put on those jeans – styled them up and wore them. I cared more about not wanting to hurt his feelings than I did about my clothes. And they really didn’t look terribly awful – they just weren’t “in” if you know what I mean.
I remember the first time I wore them to school, I wore them with a long sweater that covered the label on the back. But apparently when I sat down the sweater raised up and you could see the label because _________ (who only ever shopped at Nordstrom and got a brand new Acura for her 16th birthday) said some not so nice words and got everyone around to start laughing at my LEE jeans. I said nothing, just quietly walked away and sunk my head down a little.
I got smart and cut the tag off the back before wearing them to school again. Apparently I didn’t do such a great job because _________ (same girl) could tell that I had cut the tag and again made fun of me in front of a large group of people. Laughing it up at how I tried to hide the fact that I was wearing LEE jeans.
Except this time she didn’t just make fun of my jeans, she took it one step further and also made fun of the size of my butt.
But this time, I didn’t slink away. I stood up and said right there in front of the whole group, “Oh that’s funny – because your boyfriend called last night and he really doesn’t seem to care.”
And she never said another word – that day – or any other day after that – about my butt or about my jeans.
I’ve been made fun of for all sorts of things – my name, my frizzy hair, my big lips. Kids can be mean. They’ll make fun of you for anything and everything – things you have no control over – like the clothes your parents buy for you to wear – or the work truck they pick you up from school in – my dad was a landscaper. Those first few years of high school before I was driving myself he would often pick me up from school in his work truck; and as I walked toward the parking lot I could hear the snickering behind me and the unkind things some rude spoiled bratty kids would have to say. To those kids – PS that work truck paid for my private high school and college education – and I graduated with a bachelor’s degree and zero debt – so who’s laughing now?
The thing is – I wouldn’t want to erase it – the mean words – they gave me fuel for my fire. I don’t want my own kids to have to hear hurtful things, but I also want them to know that someone else’s words don’t define you. I don’t want them to try to fit inside someone else’s definition of cool. I want them to define for themselves what cool is.
That whole jeans incident really left an impression on me. I decided way back then that I would never wear designer jeans – no matter what. And all these years later, I always look for the most inexpensive pair of jeans I can find – because the label on my jeans doesn’t define me.
And to all the mean girls along the road that have made fun of the size of my butt – that sang a little Sir Mix-a-Lot as I walked past……………
your boyfriend called – and he likes big butts and he cannot lie.
Carmel,
This post made me laugh AND cry. Your kids are lucky 🙂