When I was a little girl growing up in Los Angeles, California, my family struggled financially. We weren't what I thought of as poor, but we certainly were not rich either. Being the youngest of five children, I often ended up wearing hand-me-downs to school. For the most part, this wasn't the worst thing, as three of my older siblings were sisters, so it worked out relatively well. However, the middle child was my brother Ed. Today Ed stands six feet, six inches and he was tall when he was young too. Special Ed, as his sisters affectionately call him, grew in leaps and bounds, so he had plenty of clothing that still had a lot of life left in it. Someone had to wear it, and sadly, that someone often ended up being me.
I am sure that I wore plenty of boys jeans and plaid shirts, but the hand-me-down I most vividly remember was a yellow rain slicker. It really wasn't of particular interest and looked like most other rain slickers. It was made of an industrial grade cloth (I don't think you could legitimately call it fabric), with a hood and silver clasps instead of buttons.
This particular day of school it was pouring outside and I had a mile to walk to John Dolland Elementary. I did not, however, have a raincoat. My mom didn't see this as a problem. She simply walked to the front closet, pulled out Ed's raincoat, and told me to put it on. Being the ripe old age of eight, I didn't have the good sense to even try to argue my cause. I put on the raincoat and, even as a child, realized I was a sad, sad sight. The length of it reached my ankles, and the arms were at least twice as long as they needed to be. The body of the coat was so huge you could have wrapped it around me three times and snapped the silver clasps in the back like a straight jacket. "That's perfect!" my mom declared.
And so, I began the journey to school. It didn't take very long before I could hear the snickers from behind me. I didn't dare turn around to look at the guilty culprits for fear I would fall over and rush away in the rain laden gutter--just a slick of yellow polyurethane drifting down the street. It was a long walk to school, and then, a long walk home again.
I remember feeling terribly humiliated and embarrassed. How could my mother possibly say she loved me and then do this to me? By the time I got home, the tears were easily sliding down my cheek.
I can't even begin to imagine how ridiculous I looked wearing that yellow rain slicker to school. But sadly, I am sure there have been times in my life when I have looked even more ridiculous. Most of them probably within the last year or two. Here's the lesson to be learned by such a forlorn experience: most often when we are humiliated or embarrassed or ashamed, we will survive it. That's right, we will probably survive the most awkward and uncomfortable experiences of our lives. It won't feel that way at the time and probably not for awhile after, but eventually we will look back on the experience and either smile at the image of our other self or shrug our shoulders in the reality that the shame didn't kill us. That's a good thing.
We are, generally, pretty resilient creatures. It's good to remind ourselves that we can adapt and change and endure. There are times when I wish I still had that much hated yellow rain slicker. If only to remind myself that even today I can overcome the shame life sometimes offers...
