This is a response to Emma's February 28 blog entry because, boy, do I know those feelings! I grew up liking—at least according to my classmates except for my best friend—all the wrong things: I hated rock music (I liked my parents' music: Big Band, Perry Como, Pops-type classical, Christmas standards), and enjoyed old-fashioned things like radio series and 1940s movies, museums, books, and, oh, yeah, my parents! In my teens I not only didn't mind being seen with my parents, I actively enjoyed going places with them. Going on vacation was as good as Christmas: we visited great places like Williamsburg and Lake George (and points north: I loved Fort Ticonderoga) and Quebec City and Franconia Notch. I spent my spare time writing stories and illustrating them, or reading; no one could figure out why I "wasted" my time doing "hard stuff" like reading and why I would prefer writing—another "really hard thing to do"—to trying on clothes and shoes (ewww! ugh!) and makeup, and talking about boys. In my teens the best gift I ever received for Christmas was not clothes or makeup but my typewriter. Boys bored me silly for the most part: they farted, made rude jokes, and talked about boring stuff like sports and cars incessantly. The two boys I liked most in high school were what would now be called "geeks." One graduated first in our class and the other graduated third. Plus I had no interest in drinking, smoking, or doing drugs (and still don't). Not to mention I was pretty much like Beth in Little Women, very shy around other people not my family or close friends. I took after my dad in that respect.

Almost forgot—I actually liked teachers! I don't mean the "cool" teachers who were "with it" and "rapped" with the kids and "spoke their language." I liked teachers who actually taught me something, especially my English teachers. (I still loathed Treasure Island, but I didn't hold that against Mr. Dwyer.) My ninth-grade English teacher, Mr. Abosamra, was one of my favorite people of all time. (In one of those odd coincidences that only happen in real life—or maybe only in Rhode Island; LOL—my dad's best buddy at the bowling alley was Mr. Abosamra's father-in-law.) And I pretty much liked school, except for anything that involved algebra or higher math (geometry was the exception) or gym class. I had bad hand-eye coordination when it came to team sports and every class was an ordeal. Later on I heard about schools that actually had electives in gym: you could take fun stuff like square dancing or calesthenics instead of having to play boring volleyball and softball. We had square dancing in elementary school; it was fun. And apparently I was the only girl in gym class who liked doing jumping jacks...

College wasn't much better, but later I got along okay when I went to work because by and large most of the people I worked with were older women. I understood them; they were like my mom. Most of them were married with kids. But I still didn't have anyone to really talk to except for Sherrye—and by then she was engaged and then married.

Finally my mom took me to my first Star Trek convention (I was 22, but she didn't want me going to New York City alone—you know Italian mothers!—besides, she had just as much fun as I did) and for the first time I belonged. There were people here who wanted to talk about books! Not just science fiction books, but books in general! They didn't think going to the library once a week was strange. They not only didn't think I was odd for liking to write stories, some of them wrote stories of their own and/or published fanzines! But most of all they weren't judgmental: "Okay, I don't know what you see in OTR or The Waltons or The Questor Tapes. I like the Stones, martial arts, and Star Wars. But that's cool. What's your favorite [fill in name of popular show you both like] episode?" It was a revelation—and fun, too!

Labels: books, memories, school, writing

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. . . . . noted and logged by Linda at 8:44:00 AM

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