Sunday I popped a tendon in the knuckle of my middle finger: excruciating; and ended up in the ER. Bottom line: typing’s tough, so this may be short. Enough said. I’ve been thinking about how being silenced made me afraid, really afraid. No one would be my friend in ninth grade because the teachers might dock their grades as they did mine. I walked the halls between classes alone, and was miserable. My parents moved so I could start over. I vowed to keep a very low profile and say as little as possible about about my beliefs in my new school. My first day at school I entered the cafeteria at lunch and finally spotted Gwen, who sat in front of me in homeroom. She was the only person I had even said ‘hello’ to, so I got some milk, and headed for her table. As soon as I sat down the cafeteria went silent. I looked around to see what had happened and then turned to Gwen, a quizzical expression on my face. Gwen suggested I look at our table and then at the ones surrounding ones. Everyone at our table was black, except for me. We were surrounded by a sea of white faces. “Oh,” I said. “Do you want me to leave?” She shrugged, “That’s up to you.” I told her I wanted to stay, since she was the only person I knew in the whole school. Several of her table mates laughed, and I stayed. Eventually the white kids started to talk again. So much for my low profile….When I had entered that cafeteria I felt a frisson of fear: would I find anyone in the room to sit with. Then I did what felt comfortable to me and sat down with a girl I recognized. Which was obviously not comfortable for most of the white kids in the school. I hadn’t said anything, but I had still caused a stir by being me. I continued to sit at that table, though of course I knew, by day two, that it wasn’t going to endear me to a lot of kids, because it felt right to me. When I found Margaret, she sat at the ‘black’ table with me. This scenario has oft repeated itself throughout my life: I am afraid. Someone, or a lot of someone’s, won’t like me. Then I take an action that seems like no big deal to me, and what I most fear, happens. Though I have ‘gone silent’ often over the years, I still have had problems. It took years, and counseling, for me to figure it all out. The fear’s still with me, but now I take whatever action seems right to me, and I say why. I refuse to be a coward, and I refuse to be silenced. Both ‘little’ and ‘big’ Nancy figure, ‘take me as I am, or not. I’m gonna be true to me.’ Sometimes it’s still a lonely place.
My hand’s throbbing, so that’s all for now.
