A few weeks ago, over dinner, some people were talking about games they played as a child. They talked about tag. Red rover. And suddenly the mention of those threw me back into my childhood…where I was the loner, the outcast, the one picked last.
As they talked and relived their nostalgia, I felt those small wounds surface. Even though I can laugh about it now, I just remember always being the part nobody wanted to be. There was a time when I played jump rope in kindergarten. I hated jump rope because we had to line up and I just wasn\’t coordinated enough to jump between the ropes. Fortunately as my turn approached, one of the boys \”accidentally\” threw a rock at my head and the next thing I knew, I was in the nurse\’s office. I also remember that monster game, a pseudo-tag game in the jungle gym. I was always the monster, because I wasn\’t fast enough. I remember playing tag where I was always It, because I was too slow. And my sister at one point felt sorry for me and slowed down to let me tag her. (Of course, she tagged me right after she paused the requisite 10 seconds.) My dad videotaped this and the irony was that I was still laughing throughout. But then ultimately, isn\’t that what childhood is all about? Despite the fact that I couldn\’t skip, I couldn\’t throw the ball right, I couldn\’t run fast enough…despite all of that, I smiled and laughed…and had fun.
Quite often, I look back on my childhood…always a bit sorrowful about how I felt rejected in school. One person told me that I need to come to terms with this, I need to not mourn it, but accept it. But all this makes who I am today.
Indeed, I do believe you have to accept it. I mean, it\’s the past, even though it may seem very hurtful, it is important to accept it.. and move on? I think it\’s horrible though that a kid threw a rock at your head… :(
How funny, I forgot I wrote this blog entry until I checked today. Actually it was quite fortunate that a kid threw a rock at my head, because then I didn\’t have to jump rope!
I agree with your friend. Having unpleasant childhood experiences as well, I believe the best way to accept them is to tell them many times, to different people. After the twentieth, thirtieth telling(over many years), it becomes just a memory, without the emotional sting.
i was a loner in jr high. i just look at it as growth. i mean, look at my driver\’s license picture. don\’t look back in ______. ~ang*e
Oh but I retell these stories over and over. There is a rarely story in my past that I haven\’t told. Yet instead of accepting the past as it is, I become slightly bitter and sad. And all of this still comes with the wound that constantly festers. Maybe it\’s because I am still jealous of those that were happy…and accepted. It was more than a year ago that one person told me that I still hadn\’t accepted it…and I probably won\’t ever, not until I come and face those who picked me last.
Hm. Maybe it wasn\’t the retelling itself, but some insight gained from the person I told it to. This won\’t help any, but try not to be jealous–you\’re who you are because of what you went through. This past was necessary to make your character. So if you like who you are…(and us INFJs have a spot of pride in us) then you owe this to what happened to you.
I don\’t hate the people who mistreated me in high school, or at least, not anymore. I have actually come across one or two, and they recall my name or face with some sort of reverence or respect–I was the smart one who went to Berkeley while they were the ones cleaning floors at Safeway. It sucks, but it is actually too late for revenge. Or for me, I guess–your mileage may vary. =)