Words

In my world, words are powerful. Even as a child I remember hearing new words and trying to figure out their meanings.  When I learned the word "Enormous" my mom was very impressed. Her reaction to it only encouraged me to learn more big words to say.

On my first day of school I was introduced to a whole new use of words that I never experienced before.  When I got on the bus with my two sisters that morning I was so nervous.  My stomach ached and I held back a well of tears as kids on the bus started calling out to my sisters and me, "Here come the dawgs"  and   "They live in that dawg house!" and "Oh they brought a puppy with em today!"  Then the howling commenced and we were tortured with words all the way to school.

It was mainly because of the house we lived in.  My grandpa Curtis built it way before I was born. I never knew my Grandmother and Grandfather Curtis.  They both died within months of my birth. I always kind of felt like I knew them, though, because we lived in their house.  I played in the huge yard and worked with my dad in the gardens.  I plundered the old barn and found things that had belonged to my grandparents.  I got my first bee sting under the apple tree and my first kiss in the back yard.

They were right I suppose.  From the outside especially, our house wasn't much to look at.  It was crooked and the shingles and siding were falling off in places.  My dad's boat shed was attached to the front of the house in those days, which also made it rather unsightly since the roof of the shed was also crooked.

 But inside our house there were certainly no dogs.  We got labeled dogs because in the eyes of the kids who lived in the subdivision one street over compared our home to theirs and came to the conclusion that only dogs would live in a house like ours.  I heard this put-down all the way from that first day to graduation day. Sure, it changed a little over the years but the basic message was the same. I was considered less than human because my house wasn't as pretty as theirs.

Until that first day of school I had no idea what name calling was or that it could hurt so bad. That day it intensified my fear and for many days after that.  It seemed as though those kids hated us enough to try to hurt us.  I realize now that the main culprits were from a dysfunctional family full of alcoholics who probably felt pretty crummy about their own "home" life and lashed out at us so they'd feel better. My older sisters didn't call me names.  My parents didn't resort to name calling.  I honestly had no idea that this happened in the world.  As time went on, I got pretty accustomed to it.

Words trigger emotions in people like me.  I focus intently on what people are saying.  I remember their words and play them back to myself over and over again--especially when someone says something hurtful.  I don't know why I put myself through that agony but I know it's something I have to do.  I have to take time to process those hurtful things and try to make sense of them before I can lay them to rest in the junk heap of careless words that have been flung at me all my life.

A while back a friend teasingly called me a skank.  I didn't realize it then, but that word triggered something in me and I'm sure I probably over-reacted.  I was pissed.  I was so angry that the comment got stuck in my head (and worst of all my heart) all this time.  It just occurred to me today why.  See, when I was in 7th grade my sister got my yearbook and wrote a really mean note in it about how ugly I was and how I would never get married or have a boyfriend because no one would ever want someone ugly like me.  The next day at school some girls asked to look at my yearbook so I let them.  They found the note my sister wrote. "That's so mean!"  I heard one  of them say.  "I know." said someone else. "What is it?" asked another one.  Before long, they had all read it.  I was sitting there, red-faced, feeling ashamed of myself for even being born when one of them piped up.  "Well, it's true."  Then a gasp from a few other girls.  Then laughter.  They were talking about me as if I wasn't there.  One of them called me a Scag.  Which I think is probably the closest word to "skank" we had back then.

These were people who didn't even know me.  They knew what kind of house I lived in and that my parents couldn't afford pricey brand-name clothing or shoes.  I never owned a pair of CK jeans and was only lucky enough to have a pair of Nike's for one school-year.  These people were judging me based on circumstances that were out of my control.  I was a kid, I had what my parents could provide for me.  They were no better than me just because their parents brought home bigger paychecks.


I wonder how many times I might have looked at someone's outer shell and made a judgment about them before I even heard them speak. It is so unfair to do that to anyone before you hear their story or get to know them better.  Swift judgments and harsh words really do hurt people and it's a hurt that lingers, sometimes for many years.

When I was a kid, I needed to hear words like "Smart" "Funny" "Cute" "Energetic"....But instead I heard words like "Lazy"  "Stupid"  "Hyper"  "Spoiled".

I really want to work on my use of words.  Especially words that can come off in a negative way or feed into my son's negative views about himself. Yes, even at 7 words can do damage.  Especially at 7.  I want him to know that he is smart and courageous and funny and tough (he prefers tough over handsome or cute).  My girls were teased mercilessly in middle school.  There were so many days they came home in tears over words that were hurled at them like daggers all throughout the day.  They always knew though, that home was a safe place.  At home, no one calls you names.  At home you can speak up, you can act silly, you can get angry, you can be who you are and no one is going to punish you for it.  At home, mom is there to use all the opposite words from the words you heard all day and instead of feeling hated you can feel loved and completely accepted.

I know that words have impacted my life in many ways, both good and bad.  They have shaped the way I see myself in relation to the rest of the world.  I've never thought I was attractive, just average.  But hey, that's a step up from ugly scag.  Maybe I'm doing okay now because back then, home was my safe-haven. I only had to make sure I kept my yearbook away from my sister, and trust me, I always did after that.  Home was my place where I could wander off by myself, into the woods or to the loft of the barn and create another reality where I was normal and no one hated me.  Home gave me a chance to recharge every day and build up the strength to go back again the next.

Home made me think of words like warm, peaceful, protected, content.
It is true: Our house wasn't much to look at. But it was the best place in the world to be.