Misty-Water Colored

8 thoughts on “Misty-Water Colored”

  1. I’ll be surprised if your former teachers still remember you after some thirty years. I happened to cross path with my favorite middle school teacher the other day; I recognized her but she didn’t seem to remember me. I guess I was not special enough to be remembered and so life moves on.

    Indeed, the world moves on. I know those men are all into their 60s by now, but I would like very much to erase what I did. Or better still, have had the brains not to do it in the first place. 🙂

  2. You weren’t accepted in the south because you weren’t related to anybody in your class. You weren’t anybody’s brother or uncle or bruncle. You weren’t the result of inbreeding and well, to them, that’s just weird.

    Well, actually — I have no way of KNOWING I wasn’t anyone’s bruncle, but … still, it wasn’t that deep in the deep south. I think it had more to do with what they called my “Yankee Accent” and my olive-colored skin. Just a hunch.

  3. Oh dear. Not the best of memories, but you’ve come a long way since then.

    Well, thank you! I can only hope. 🙂

    I liked most of my teachers and they liked me. We got along better than I got along with the other kids for the most part. It bothered me a lot back then, but today I’m just really grateful that I got such a good education.

    I’m happy with my education too, but I can do without the crap I piled on it. And I wish I’d made better use of it while I had the chance!

  4. You are nut the chicken you suggested over at my place. Just saying. Very honest here. Give yourself more credit.

    I’m a bigger chicken than I let on. But I’m grateful for your encouragement. 🙂

    I grew up in the south. Born there. Never fit in. Who knows why. My dad is from New England and he has lived in the south for about 55 years and never had a spot of trouble with people. I don’t think he fit in exactly, but he didn’t care. He got along. And everyone but his second wife liked him. Go figure.

    Some folks are just better at that than others. I could tell you other stories of how I didn’t fit in where I was born too — including my household.

    Why don’t we fit in? Because we worry about it? Because we have some tick or trait that gets at others? I think this question is impossible to ever answer to our satisfaction.

    I’ve given up caring. I did care once, but that was quite a while ago. I just got to a point where I don’t worry about things like that anymore.

    If those teachers were thoughtful men, then they probably, (eventually depending on what transpired) felt sad for the bright student who seemed lost and they hoped (prayed?) that you would find that better self again one day.

    Oh, I can only hope so. And that nothing more than stupid words were exchanged.

  5. PS. I wrote a bit more of a response to your response on my blog.

    I’m grateful. I’ll take a look. (It hasn’t made it into my reader yet, though.)

    1. I don’t know if it will make it into your reader because I edited my answer into your comment instead of as a new comment. Anyway, I like the conversation. Read when you can.

      Okay, I went and read, and I have to say thank you again. You’ve made me think about things in a different sort of way. I should respond to you but I want to take a couple of hours to think about my responses. You’ve made some thoughtful comments which deserve thoughtful responses; and please, you didn’t AT ALL offend me in ANY way. Have no worries about that. I’m grateful for the feedback.

  6. Oddly enough most of my teachers remember me, apparently I am the kind of person that leaves a lasting impression (ie emotional scars).

    I know your type, then. 😉

    It sounds like your drinking days were up there with mine. When I saw where it was taking me I managed to quit and I haven’t had a drink since 1991 or so. Just as well it really brought out my dark side.

    I wish it brought out mine. No, mine just brought out my stupid side, I’m afraid.

    Now during my kidney stone experience they put me on Oxycodone and while under its influence I insulted one of my daughter’s 9 year old friends enough to send her home crying.

    Ouch. That’s gonna be hard to explain to an upset parent. “Drug allergy” only goes so far, I’d think.

    I still don’t know exactly what or why I said what I did but it makes me afraid that I have such darkness lurking in me just out of sight.

    I can understand that. I’m capable of much more hatred than I’d like to admit to, and with the right releasing agent, things get ugly. My wife has stories, and I don’t remember any of ’em. But I certainly empathize with you on this one. Thanks for sharing it with us.

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