Being Real: Definition

One of the blogs I've been reading has gotten me really inspired, to go deeper, to be more personal. I have stories worth sharing, or so I think, probably more so than all of the ranting and raving I've been doing. I'd rather help people than bash them any day.

So here goes.

I was eleven years old. Old enough to begin to understand that boys were attractive, for whatever reason it was. I hadn't made it to the birds and the bees conversation, but I knew enough to be able to point out the most attractive guy in my church, at least, according to the other girls around my age.

It was the Christmas season, and the annual children's Christmas play was revving up. I had volunteered for a speaking part as an angel named Joy, because the teachers had run out of favorites to place in priority roles and I had been dying to be on the stage with the popular kids.

We were at one of the extra practices designated for the core "actors", which included the main group of angels and the angel "band" (which was made up of most of the popular, cool boys, a popular, hot girl, and one of my little brothers). Lo and behold, that meant the most sought after boy of my age group would be there. The "hottie". The "cutie". The one all the girls whispered about among themselves and giggled over how perfect he was. Him.

I knew he would be there, him and his cronies (made up of the other pastors' sons, who were also considered attractive, although after him on the "it" list). I stole glances at him all night, while trying to focus on my lines and be extra pretty during the songs; he and his groupies just looking as cool as ever, with their sunglasses and air-performing on their instruments.

Afterwards, we all waited for our parents to pick us up, while gathering in our groups and chatting. I had no group, as the main cast was made up of the popular kids, and I sure as heck didn't belong with them. My little brother was over chilling with a member of the band, he-who-shall-not-be-named's little brother.

So I was alone.

And here comes his best bud, strutting as they all do, son of the music pastor. I willed myself to be a stone.

"So hey," he leaned on a chair in front of me, cool as a cat. "_______ wanted me to come talk to you, ask you something."

"Um, sure," I stuttered. My mind whirled as to why this guy would even be talking to me, let alone why _______ would even stoop so low as to send his best friend to talk to me.

"He wants to know if you'll go out with him," the guy continued.

OH MY GOSH!! WHAT IN ALL THE HECK?! WHY WOULD HE WANT TO GO OUT WITH ME?! OH MY GOSH, OH MY GOSH, OH MY GOSH, I THINK I'M GOING TO PEE MYSELF!!!!

My heart sank. What was I thinking? My parents would never let me go out with anyone...

"Uh," I mumbled to my toes, "My parents don't allow me to date." My heart was still racing.
He stood up. "That's cool." Then he strutted back to his pals.

Had I bothered to look over to the "hot" fella's group after his friend had rejoined them, I would have been fully aware of what had just happened.

But my brain and heart were on cloud nine, I was floating, I really knew what angels felt like. _______ likes me? He really likes....me? That was all that consumed my thoughts for the next three weeks.

Skip ahead. The play was over, we had all gone our separate ways. I was in Sunday morning class with my then-best friend (who I had always envied and seen as a million times prettier than I). We were whispering about you-know-who and I told her about the incident a few weeks before. She did a double-take.

"Ah, Rach", she took a deep breath. "You know how (another girlfriend of ours, who happened to be a pastor's kid) and I have been hanging out with all of them?"
I nodded. It was bound to happen. Both of them were prettier and more popular than I, so sure, I understood that they would be desired by 'the guys'. I believe one or both of them were 'dating' members of that group at the time, but don't remember exactly.
"Well, _______ told us that it was a prank."
I froze. "What do you mean...?".
"_______ never meant it when he had _______ ask you out. The other guys dared him to do it. It was a joke. I thought you knew."

But I didn't know. I'd never had anything happen like that before. I had spent the last few weeks on cloud nine, and I was the butt of someone's joke, their prank? I couldn't grasp the concept. This guy that I and every other girl in the church had a major crush on for forever (but especially me) had asked me out because it was funny? How could anyone be so (blind) cruel?

For months, years, this devastated me. This isn't the time for the rest of the gritty details or parties involved in the rest of the story, but my life was definitely impacted. For the negative.

I dwelt on the supposed fact that I wasn't pretty enough for what I considered an attractive guy to ask me out of his own volition, without being dared. This incident, so early in the formative years of my teens, marked me. It set the standard of my self esteem, which rode low for many, many years. I believed none of the 'hot' guys I crushed on, from the age of eleven to sixteen, would ever like me for any reason, would ever ask me out. And for whatever reason it was, none of them did, which only served to solidify my self-loathing.

So if you know me (or even if you don't) and you haven't been able to understand my extreme dislike for myself, this is one of the places it was conceived. I can't say it was the only place, but it was a contributing factor for sure. I also won't say that I haven't learned and grown from it, because I definitely have. It no longer defines me, but if I were to constantly think on it, it would hurt exactly the same as it did my eleven year-old self. So I just don't.