Where do I fit in?

I started to become stuck in the middle somehow.  I was not in the age bracket of my siblings, but I didn’t feel like I was in the age bracket of my nieces and nephews either.  

In my elementary school years I never really felt like I fit in anywhere.  There were a hand full of girls I hung out with but I always felt different.  I was made to feel a little different.  I’m sure many can relate to this.  Jim and I laugh about things like this now but as a child it was HUGE.  I remember I pestered mum to let me do jazz ballet like my girlfriends were starting up.  It was held in the school recreational hall after school.  Everybody came in all their new leotards, looking smashing.  You could tell they had gone out and gotten the proper gear.  Little Krissy on the other hand had her Kmart specials on.  You could just tell they were a little poorer in quality.  Nothing really fit right.  I got sick and was unable to attend one week and when I went back, I got laughed at because I just wasn’t picking things up as quickly.  I felt so behind and I gave it up.  I did not feel much like part of the group either.  It was a horrible feeling for this skinny little awkward seven year old child.

In grade 3, there was this mouthy kid in my class who often had large green booger pipes hanging out his nose.  He was revolting.  I came to school in my new track pants for PE.  The silky Adidas tracky daks were all the rage.  I had on my Kmart special version of the silky Adidas pants and this snotty kid called me “two striper” whenever I would wear them.  The imitation trackies had two stripes instead of the three stripes that the Adidas brand has.  The question in my mind was “who are you to be calling me ‘two striper’ when you have two green pipes oozing out your nose”?  Another question in my mind was, “why didn’t mum just buy me the Adidas ones?  Would it have killed her?  It’s not like she couldn’t afford them.  Mum just never bought into the whole brand name thing.  The Kmart track pants served their purpose.  So too did the Aerosport shoes (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BINEcbangsw) with the Velcro straps at the front.  Now, getting bak to the snotty-nosed kid… to this day, I cannot understand how he never felt those nasty boogers running down his face.  Some interesting trivia for you is that this revolting kid did actually turn out to be a handsome young lad.  I actually received a New Years kiss from him many years later.  Ah, time heals all wounds hey?

I was an awkward looking kid.  I had the thinnest of thin hair that was silvery white.  My hair cut seriously looked like my mother had stuck a bowl (or a stack hat) on top of my head and quite literally trimmed around it.  I was skinny.  My legs looked like a flamingos and when I ran it kind of looked like I was going to get tangled up in them.  Just like Mr Tickle’s arms from the Mr Men series.  I was not a bad little runner though.  My dad took footage of me over the years running in the school cross-countries and athletics carnivals and a highlight for me was the footage from grade one.  There you see this gangly-looking child running towards the finish line, then stopping to walk because every body else was so far behind.  Clearly I didn’t want to show the others up too much.

Interestingly enough,
later in my life I was referred to as Barbie.
Complement or insult?

This was another thing that set me a part from the girls in my class.  They seemed to be creative in the arts and they enjoyed reading and were confident with numbers.  I was a tomboy.  My home life was making cubby houses in the bush, riding my bike or roller blading around the neighbourhood.  In the wintertime, when it was dark, I would be found indoors constructing large villages with my Lego.  The girls in my class were into Cabbage Patch and Barbie Dolls.  I actually never owned a Cabbage Patch Doll and my first Barbie was given to me by my friend Lara for my birthday.  I think was an attempt at making me a little more girly.  I think my mother did a better job of that in later years, but that story is for an other time.