Normal

I remember longing to be normal in seventh grade.

What is normal?

Back then it meant someone who wasn't always the new kid in school. It meant not having to miss choir because I was in band and not being singled out for advanced classes in English, history, and math.  It also meant wearing Capezio pumps and matching sweaters and skirts instead of holey-soled bargain store shoes and cut down hand me downs.

It's not that I was bullied or mistreated. I always had a best friend, but when we walked home, she wore her matching sweaters and skirts with those damnable matching Capezios and I carried a ton of books and a violin.

My teacher wanted to nominate me for student of the month one time, but she asked if I had ever gone to a school dance. I hadn't and evidently it didn't count that I was in the chess and astronomy clubs. She told me she felt bad about that. So did I. But I didn't go to the next dance either.

With typical twelve year old fervor, I dreamed of growing up to be a concert pianist. I could see myself dressed in rhinestone gowns sitting at a Steinway in Carnegie Hall, my blonde hair cascading down my back. The only hurdle was my horrific stage fright that preceded every single concert on every single instrument I ever played. (And my dark brown hair.)

I was a persistent child. I played paino, saxophone, violin, and oboe. Both of my parent's dreams of playing an instrument professionally were shuffled through me and quietly failed for the second time.

Mostly I was a terribly shy child who was so terrified during performances that I barely had any memory of them afterwards. I sensed this was a great disappointment to parents who saw me as a "healthy looking girl" with brown hair who might be on their hands for the rest of their lives.

I did eventually outgrow some of these things, but it wasn't until I read Leo The Late Bloomer to three hundred preschool parents, that I realized I might be the consummate late bloomer!

Now I live in Normal and that's probably as close as I'm ever going to get.