thirty days of thirty years: ten

During the tenth year of my life I was nine years-old and in fourth grade at St. Charles School. It was 1991-1992. 

School at St. Charles was bitter sweet for me. It was a good education and I generally liked school, but socially it was very hard for me. I never really had more than one or two friends at a time there and if my peers weren't looking down on me, I at least felt like they were. I knew that I wasn't at the bottom of the social totem pole, but I was about third or fourth from the bottom. 

My teacher in fourth grade was Mrs. Chirpich. She had fiery red hair and she wasn't universally liked, but I really liked her. One day after recess she got the class quiet and she had everyone open up about why I was not more included in things. It was kind of ballsy, really, because she was calling out this elephant that had been in every homeroom with me since first grade. It was also mortifying for me. 

Kids talked for a while and all I really remember anyone saying was that I was really quiet, which was the only excuse anyone ever gave for why they didn't know or understand me. And a couple girls talked about how I went to this birthday party with them and how, "once she starts talking she doesn't stop." I wasn't quite sure if that was a compliment or an insult. 

It's true, I was invited to this one birthday party for a girl who was on my soccer team. I remember being really surprised to receive the invitation, and scared to go. But I went and it was probably as true then as it is today, that once 9 PM rolls around I start talking and I don't stop for a while. 

I don't think anything really changed much after that, even though a couple girls who were at that party confessed that I was pretty cool once you got to know me. Maybe I didn't live up to my part of the social bargain, maybe I didn't open up to people enough to find true friendships. All I know is that people were always telling me to "come out of my shell," and I wondered, how? What does that even mean and how do I do it? I always felt that if I knew the answer to that question then I would have a lot of my problems solved. 

If I could go back and tell all those people one thing I have learned about myself-- and all quiet people, really-- it is this: Ashley needs people to draw her out. She is like a deep well and she just needs for people to come alongside her, drop a line down and draw her out. It's not too hard and it's not too much to ask, and chances are that it will be worth it. 

The summer after fourth grade I went with my dad to family day at Boy Scout camp to see my brother and grandpa, Popo, who was a den father, or whatever they are called. We ran into Mrs. Chirpich there because she had at least one son at camp that week. She had four sons, I think. Anyway, she chatted with us for a bit and then she told my dad something I hope I never forget. She said,"If I had a daughter, I would want her to be just like Ashley." 

Some of the most influential moments of my life are made up of sentences like that. They were like signposts and without them I might have been lost.