Awk....ward.

To say I was an awkward child, is an understatement. Up until first grade, I was a cute kid, nothing special, just your average, cute, little girl. In the summer between first and second grade, I must have caught the awkward bug, because that's when it all went down hill. My Grandparents convinced me to cut my hair super short, everyone thought I was a boy, I was taller than almost all the girls in my class and some of the boys, I had lost my baby teeth and in their place came in big, crooked, horse teeth. To top it off, I had a boys name. I was an extremely goofy kid, always speaking before thinking and saying the first thing that came to mind. That really hasn't changed much. I never understood the concept of trying to be different to fit in or appear "cool". It just never occurred to me. Who else was I supposed to be? Who else was I supposed to act like? Having this goofy side of me has always opened me up to be teased, even to this very day. I think I realized I was the common denominator in the problem, when I went into high school. I thought things would be different there, I would meet people who didn't know me and I could make a new impression. Not so much. I didn't know who else to act like, so I continued on, being me and just accepting the fact that as I long as I continued to be myself, I was going to be teased. I think most people weren't being mean spirited about it, either way, I would take it as lightheartedly as it was meant, but if it did bother me, there was no way in hell I was going to let them see that it did.


I never really did anything like the other kids. I don't know if that had something to do with being raised by my grandparents or not. I couldn't help being a little old fashioned, because that's what I was taught. I said weird phrases that none of the other kids had ever heard, I told stories that my Grandparents had told me that no one ever believed, no one had taught me to play any sport, so I was athletically challenged,  and my Grandma fixed my hair the only way she knew how, like hers. To this day I still feel different than people my age. Back then I don't think I realized what was different about me. Now that I realize, I'm glad.

After my Grandma cut my hair boy short, I remember going to the swap meet and there was this Middle Eastern man that had a booth with all sorts of toys, cars, helicopters, etc...As I was walking by he started calling to me, "little boy, little boy, come look at all the toys!". I tried to ignore him, I wasn't about to respond to some dude calling me a boy. He kept going though, "little boy, little boy, come here!", finally I turned around to him and said. "I'm a girl!". I blamed my Grandma for cutting my hair.

All throughout grade school, I was constantly teased about my teeth. They would call me buck tooth, Bugs Bunny, ask me if I lived on Beaver Street and would make faces at me, like a rabbit eating a carrot. I would laugh along, sometimes the faces they made were funny, I couldn't help it. I can't remember ever being upset about them teasing me about my teeth, I know it bothered me and I didn't like it. It upsets me more now looking back, not upset because it was done to me, but I imagine if that was my kid and just how hurtful the things they would say were. My Grandma told me not that long ago, that I would come home and tell her what the kids would say. She said she would cry for me and that she didn't understand how I came home everyday and never acted like it bothered me. If I ever did cry or get upset about it, I know I never did it in front of them. It was so instinctual to know that if I let them see me get upset about it, then they would know they got me. I would never let them have that satisfaction. They didn't need it though, they were usually satisfied enough and didn't stop anyway.

There was one thing, that has kind of stuck with me to this day. One thing that happened, that I remember as soon as it happened, I immediately wanted to cry, but it took everything in me to hold it back. I'm not sure what grade I was in. I want to say it was somewhere between the fourth and sixth grade. There was this boy who sat behind me and we usually sat in our desks sideways, so it was like he sat next to me, to my left. It's possible I turned around to make fun of him. I might have just been asking him a question, I really can't remember. When I turned around, his response was to spit in my face. I don't know whether I was so mad or embarrassed, but I really wanted to cry. I wiped it off with whatever I had there, which was probably my sleeve.  I wouldn't have wanted to walk up to where the tissues were with spit on my face for the whole class to see. As I was wiping it off, it started making me sick to my stomach. I couldn't believe that someone would do something so disgusting. It seemed like I could smell his breath on my face all day, no matter how much I tried to get it off. I did have a little redemption though, just this past year. I ran into that same boy at a bar one night. I could tell what he was thinking when he saw me and I couldn't help but think to myself, "yeah, that's right". He proceeded to hit on me, relentlessly. I proceeded to shut him down just as relentlessly.

Looking back, being teased, wasn't easy. I know it had to have hurt my feelings way more than I remember. I definitely wouldn't be the person I am today if it had never happened. While today, I am content with who I am and with my appearance, there is still that homely, awkward, buck tooth girl inside me, that every once in a while gives me a dose of what I'm not sure is humbleness or low self-esteem. Maybe a mix of both. All I know is, if I ever start to get a little ahead of myself, a little girl, with boyish hair taps me on my shoulder and says, "Hey bucktooth, remember me?".