"Oh! You're Marcie! Yes, well Janelle wasn't a very good writer so we read your blog because you were a better writer and, actually, you were quite good. A very good writer."
Janelle added, "She still is a good writer and you should still read her blog."
Janelle added, "She still is a good writer and you should still read her blog."
Nothing makes a blogger beam like when you compliment her writing.
Nothing makes a blogger feel guilty like when you compliment her and she hasn't written in an embarrassingly long time.
Thanks for the kick in the pants.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
One of the many jobs I have been juggling has been going to elementary schools with an inflatable planetarium and teaching fascinating facts about the moon, light years, and other stellar topics.
Managing to sneak away for a few minutes between presentations, I found the bathroom, which was quite an accomplishment as this was one of those weird honeycomb schools with no sensible floor plan. The sinks, stalls, and toilets seemed to be much smaller than I remember them being in my own elementary school, and I found myself having to contort my elbow to get in just the right position to fish toilet paper out of the poorly functioning twin-roll jumbo toilet paper dispenser.
The girl in the stall to my left was blowing her nose and, in the midst of my fishing, I noticed that she hadn't stopped sniffling at any point while I was using the facility. I heard the girl on the other side of me flush, step out of the stall, wash her hands, and exit the restroom. This left just two girls in the bathroom: the planetarium assembly lady and the sniffling girl. Judging by the size of her shoes, I would guess she was in fourth grade. I did up my pants, let the stall door slam behind me, washed up while contemplating what to do with this situation, and after I threw away my paper towel I spoke up.
"You don't sound very happy."
No response.
I finished drying my hands on my pants and put my hands in my pockets, the way I do when I am not 100% sure about what I'm doing.
"Are you being bullied?"
"*Sniff* A little."
I know that sniff. It's the same sniff you make when you let tears dribble down your cheeks and you have to wipe your chin with the back of your hand and you keep making this grimacing face of pain that no one can see.
She said that her teacher knows that she got bullied and that, no, there is nothing I can do. I invited her to come out of the stall and chat, but she must have been taught well to not talk to strangers any more than polite bathroom conversation necessitates. I tried to casually throw in some motivational line like a classic pep-talk in a drama film as I walked out, "Alright then. Just remember that you're beautiful and it will all work out and you're worth it" or some other nugget of inspiration that I hope didn't just crash like icicles onto the bathroom floor.
I didn't learn her name. I never saw her face. She will forever to me be The Little Girl in the Bathroom Stall. She, like many other girls with faces lost behind bathroom stalls, will probably cry many more tears and suffer these scars to reopen every so often.
This post is for that little girl in the bathroom stall.
Thanks for the kick in the pants.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
One of the many jobs I have been juggling has been going to elementary schools with an inflatable planetarium and teaching fascinating facts about the moon, light years, and other stellar topics.
 |
| This is me and my planetarium. I named him Nigel. |
The girl in the stall to my left was blowing her nose and, in the midst of my fishing, I noticed that she hadn't stopped sniffling at any point while I was using the facility. I heard the girl on the other side of me flush, step out of the stall, wash her hands, and exit the restroom. This left just two girls in the bathroom: the planetarium assembly lady and the sniffling girl. Judging by the size of her shoes, I would guess she was in fourth grade. I did up my pants, let the stall door slam behind me, washed up while contemplating what to do with this situation, and after I threw away my paper towel I spoke up.
"You don't sound very happy."
No response.
I finished drying my hands on my pants and put my hands in my pockets, the way I do when I am not 100% sure about what I'm doing.
"Are you being bullied?"
"*Sniff* A little."
I know that sniff. It's the same sniff you make when you let tears dribble down your cheeks and you have to wipe your chin with the back of your hand and you keep making this grimacing face of pain that no one can see.
She said that her teacher knows that she got bullied and that, no, there is nothing I can do. I invited her to come out of the stall and chat, but she must have been taught well to not talk to strangers any more than polite bathroom conversation necessitates. I tried to casually throw in some motivational line like a classic pep-talk in a drama film as I walked out, "Alright then. Just remember that you're beautiful and it will all work out and you're worth it" or some other nugget of inspiration that I hope didn't just crash like icicles onto the bathroom floor.
I didn't learn her name. I never saw her face. She will forever to me be The Little Girl in the Bathroom Stall. She, like many other girls with faces lost behind bathroom stalls, will probably cry many more tears and suffer these scars to reopen every so often.
This post is for that little girl in the bathroom stall.
You are beautiful. Even though I never saw more of you than your shoes, I know you are beautiful because you are struggling and struggling makes you stronger and strength makes you beautiful. I know you feel weak but you are beautiful and you were beautiful even before whatever little boy or girl said mean things to you that cut you up inside and made you feel ugly and unaccepted and lonely and a slew of elite sounding synnonyms that all essentially mean sad .
Kids are mean sometimes. Even big kids and grown-ups are mean sometimes. Maybe even you are mean sometimes. But right now that doesn't matter. What matters is that you are crying and if you only knew that a stranger in the next stall over is, even three weeks later, concerned for you and praying for you and on your side, and... I don't know.... I guess maybe if you knew that, then maybe you would believe that elementary school is only a very very small part of the human experience and that you are much bigger than that experience. Maybe you would believe that your freckles are actually angel kisses, your sense of humor is witty, and karma always favors the one suffering the unearned ridicule.
Little girl in the bathroom stall, this world is yours. Don't let some "popular" training-bra wearing fourth grader, or some boy who teases you about your crush, or the boy who is your crush who decides to kick you on purpose during recess - or even that teacher who tells you (in not so many words) that you are wrong, or too loud, or hopeless - ever keep you from being beautiful.
Kindness is beauty.
