Third Grade All Over Again

Today was our company's Sweet Treat Pot Luck and Secret Santa Gift exchange. As you know, as an integral part of Holiday Committee, I was in charge of Secret Santa this year.

After eating "sweet treats" 'till our tummies hurt, we were waiting an announcement to say it was time to dive down under the tree and the little box with our name on it. I didn't understand why it was bothering me all day and why, when people were crouched down, searching, I was scared to be one of them.

Then, in a flash, I remembered Third Grade. Velvet dress. White tights. Shiny shoes. Proud of the paper plane cut out book I got for Michael Someone. I went searching then, getting tinsel tied up in my straight hair. My present must be here somewhere too. But Bobby was sick. He had red hair and was often sick. So, I was the only lonely kid to not get a present. I stood there, welling up, wiping my sweaty palms on my velvet dress, trying to smile.

I thought if I said my silly fear out loud, as the women chewed down on their apple cheese cake, it couldn't possibly happen. It couldn't possibly happen again. Chantee called out the names one by one, and people turned and stopped and oohed and ahhed at each shiny box's wrapping and ribbons. As fewer and fewer boxes were left underneath of the tree, I felt my heart racing little. I wiped my sweaty hands on my tweed pants while breathing deep, calming breaths.

So, it's just my fate I guess. Someone crawled on the floor. "It must be here somewhere!" they shouted, but was muffled beneath the artificial boughs and garland. "It's not" I said, remembering searching underneath the tree skirt for at least a card, in my tiny shiny shoes.

It's not quite as devastating when you know it's going to happen, but there is the sneaking, awful feeling of being forgotten and unliked. Everyone made excuses and apologies while I made jokes, and tried to shake away my continuingly blushing face. "Its okay, really."

Later I realized that it was the girl out with bronchitis, the sweet Indian girl, who would wrap something real nice, with a big shiny ribbon. I was relieved to know it was someone nice, who might even like picking something out for me, instead of someone who secretly hated me.

This is when I realized that my biggest fear, more than cancer, or sharks, or even kareoke, is not being liked.



Last night I tutored at the family center, got hit with a pillow, and came home with Brian and Emma. Sarah came over, and saw the gigantic Santa we made from pantyhose and pillows and cuddled up next to him with her beer (which was soon to be a ornament for the tree.)