Lessons I Learned from a (Self-Proclaimed, Not-so-Smart) Girl (Certainly Not the Genius of Elm Street)
I will always be grateful for Ann M. Martin, author of the beloved book series, The Baby-Sitters Club.
Growing up, I would collect nickels and dimes so that, once a month, I would have $1.95 in order that I could purchase the latest book through our school book club. (Does anyone else remember the Scholastic Book Club? I would be thrilled every time a new one was available and the entire class period was lost on me because I could not possibly put it down!)
The premise of the series is seven (and later, even more) friends who are as different as night and day, but share a love of baby-sitting. I remember the influence the girls of the series had on me starting at a very young age. By third grade I was devouring full books in single sittings, even they were considered to be "fourth-grade and above" reading material.
We never had any success.
Never.
The fascination I held all those years ago resurrected itself in the Spring of 2012 when I was practically imprisoned by my nausea and a slave to the cool, dark, silence.
The television could not console me.
My family could not console me. (Sorry guys!!)
I was pregnant, and I was sick.
A few months prior to the start of my life with Demitri, Zeplin, Big Strong Man and I made a Christmas trip up north to visit my family.
Earlier that year, my Momma had begun to clear-out her basement from all things dust-laden. In the middle of it all, she found my collection:
Well over 100 books,
the Mystery Board Game,
dolls,
and countless other BSC paraphernalia.
She had asked if I still wanted these with the understanding, "you want them, you take them".
Yes, I wanted them!
Flash forward to early pregnancy destitution.
I could not eat, nor bathe, nor participate in my own life.
First trimesters are not kind to me.
Endless hours of sleeping and lying in peace were not enough for me. Usually, I am too active. Being still is not my strong-suit.
It wasn't until about month three when I remembered the old Avon box with the address we lived in two decades earlier.
This box held my library of treasures.
Book one, "Kristy's Great Idea".
I reread this for the umpteenth time in my life and, at 29, I returned directly to my childhood.
I was engulfed.
Book two, three, thirty, fifty, ninety.
On and on I read, memories and reminders of why I liked some characters so much came back at me in full eight-year-old-bliss!
But time has change and so did my opinion of some characters.
The breakdown:
Allow me to begin with Mallory. If you followed the series at all, you know she often got the short end of the stick on everything.
Growing up I sympathized with her.
Although I ultimately chose Claudia as the character I would most likely befriend, I found many qualities in Mallory which were easily relatable to me.
On the surface, we both shared a love for reading, writing, and horses.
I have always had a thing for accents and Mallory scored the hot new kid in town, Ben, the Aussie. On a deeper level however, we both felt underestimated.
As I reread her stories, I felt less common ground to her and realize that I had changed.
Mallory, for better or worse, never had the opportunity to learn from three decades of life.
She was stuck in a perpetual life of sixth grade.
But I grew in value and worth.
Twenty years of life from when I first met these girls was not wasted on me.
Kristy is a strong presence, but I don't relate to her. Much. At all. Not then, not now.
Stacey has always been likable, and she remains one of my favorites.
Although I was too young then to understand that she was just "different" from the others...(and not just because of her Diabetes which we learned about in "The Truth About Stacey", [book number three])...because of her maturity. Really! I mean she was causally dating while all of the others still blushed whenever someone said the word "bra". She got perms (which I remember were very cool in my youth), and wore make-up. Also, she came from New York, which is where I assumed I would someday live.
And grace Broadway.
Mary Anne surprised me because I LIKED her this time around, same with Dawn. Neither was a big hit in my eyes during my youth.
But Mary Anne was a lot stronger than I remembered. And that made me feel proud for her.
Dawn, I realized, was a liberal, which I felt made for a fun character. (Also, she had her own spin-of series, "The California Diaries" and, wonder-of-all-wonders, I found it at a thrift store. Beat-up and a few novels short of completion. I found it and added it to my collection.)
I like Jessi enough.
To her credit, outside of reading, horses, and dance, I also never really related. (But her loooong and exaggerated cursive writing? I literally could not stand to look at it while I was sick. Gag.)
Abby didn't enter the scene until I was old enough to discontinue collecting the books. As a matter of fact, the last one I purchased was number 90, which was Abby's debut book. I had simply "outgrown" the Sitters.
But then there was Claudia....
Growing-up, Claudia was ALWAYS my favorite.
Creative.
Fun.
Artistic.
Real. I mean, kinda.
Two of my then, very close friends were Amanda and Laci. Amanda was the smart one who actually enjoyed school.
-Which I thought was so unusual.-
Laci was the tomboy. Together, they were Kristy.
I was Claudia.
Not because I was artistic, although I asked for and received an easel one year at Christmas.
It was also not that I was outrageously outgoing.
It was because I related to her.
She felt inferior to her "Genius of Elm Street" (book number 49) sister, Janine, and I felt inferior to my own sister.
My sister, Nicolette, is smart, always has been.
Growing up, our brother had the "street smarts", Nicolette had the "book smarts".
She also had the beauty.
I felt as though I simply floated around. Nothing special.
In my own mind, Claudia had befriended me; she let me know that I wasn't alone when I brought home my first "D" on a report card.
Or when I flunked algebra.
And so very many tests.
There were times, I remember, when I purposed to do worst on an assignment than I would of had I not believed that I would be betraying Claudia.
If I succeeded and she did not, I felt I would have been disloyal to her.
But she struggled and I struggled, and we struggled through school together.
Claudia is not to blame for my under-achievements.
She is not even a real person.
What she was to me, was a confidant.
She helped me through the time in my life when I was mostly insecure with myself.
I was not beautiful. Just fair.
I was not smart. Average.
I was kind, but also meek and sad.
When I compared myself to everyone around, the smart and strong, athletic and beautiful, I did not trust that I measured-up.
I was the one always falling short.
I was Claudia.
Many years after I first began to imitate this fictional life of baby sitting, artsy, underachievement, -and many years before the present moment- Nicolette, and I had stopped to ponder one another.
She is one of my favorite people on the planet. I love her so.
And yet, we pondered.
We compared.
Ourselves.
To one another.
In my eyes, she has always been cooler than me.
More sophisticated, more goal-oriented. Stronger, prettier, more popular.
She was Stacey.
I am not certain what she would say about me, short of, she also felt as though she had never measured-up. (Gasp!)
We are now 30 and 31.
We both struggle daily with self-acceptance and appreciation.
We are grateful for healthy bodies, each having had carried and birthed two healthy children. But we have scars, and cellulite, and extra weight.
We are thankful for bodies which nursed our very little ones to good health, but many days I am not pleased with my cup size. She is not pleased with her pants size.
We compare.
We both fail.
It is here, now, in my old age and infinite wisdom that I can be appreciative for Ann M. Martin and Claudia Kishi. For being there when I needed them.
In third grade and in my 29th year.
If you were real, Claudia, I would say thank you. I came here to blame you, to accuse you for the fact that I was one of three Seniors in the -mostly Freshman and Sophomore- Algebra class.
For having to humbly accept the fact that I would have to take and pass basic english and math courses before I would be able to take accredited classes in college.
For prayerfully considering homeschooling my Littles and knowing full-well that I still do not know what adverbs and a pronouns are.
In truth, the more I write, the more I am reminded that you meant a lot to me back then.
You still do.
Thank you for reminding me that I do not need to be perfect- and I never will be.
But Shay Newton and Emily Michelle?
They adore you.
Mimi and Peaches love you.
And you can add me to your list of fans.
I appreciate you.
A lot.
-fun in reminiscing, gomommyblogger
Random fun BSC facts link
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