It was 1990 and we were driving to the middle school in my dad’s Chevette. We were singing Garth Brooks’ new album. In retrospect, I’m not really sure how this was possible because my dad’s Chevette was like, a 1977 model, and that would have required 8tracks. This was 1990 so he had some kind of a fancy adapter or something. We would listen to The Thunder Rolls over and over again, and marvel at the thunder in the beginning because it was awesome and Garth Brooks was ahead of his time. It pretty much shook the speakers. And when the tape got to Friends in Low Places, we would listen to that, but only if my mom wasn’t in the car. Because young impressionable ears and such.
For the longest time, I thought it was “salsa graces” instead of “social graces” which I guess I thought meant that he had bad manners when eating salsa. And he wasn’t invited to the party because Mexican food down-the-shirt-dribble problems which I can totally relate to. So for the longest time, this is what I belted out when say, in college… Or last week when reliving the glory days of my youth. I realize my digression, but roll with it anyway whilst silently blaming my mother for limited exposure to classic Garth Brooks.
I remember it was cold that day, because we sat and waited on the cars in front of us, and we could barely see through the glare of the sun and the exhaust from the other cars. We had a carpool lane that slowly wound around the school, and no one could exit their vehicles until they got to the front. My dad’s Chevette was super smoggy, so I remember being a little embarrassed by it because that’s what almost eleven year olds do. But that was okay, because today was dress up day at school. I was so excited. I stared down as the sunlight glared through the front of that foggy window, and I was glittering. I had this awesome, two-toned clown costume that was purple on one side and green on the other and made of some funky shimmer material. It wasn’t the good kind of green and purple but more of a glaring, Joker vibe. Completing the look were huge, puffy Bozo-the-Clown-esque buttons and collar, and a matching pointed hat with a pompom on the end. But we took it to a whole other level, because my mom had carefully painted my face that morning, so I looked like a full-on, adorably creepy mime.
And as the car wound slowly around that carpool line to where I could see the front of the school, and I gathered my bags, I think you can see where I’m going with this story. My heart sank a little. Because car by car, kid by kid, no one else wore a costume.
The best they could do was some half-hearted cat ears or glitter spray for their hair. And that was it for every fifth middle school contender. With each kid that exited, the panic rose a little in my throat. They were not dressed up. And our turn came for me to exit the car, choosing the side of optimism, I thought that maybe my homeroom was dressed up, and I just hadn’t seen them yet. I gave my dad a half hearted goodbye {hoping no one saw me exit said smoggy Chevette} and exited the car.
Commence the walk of shame, because inside the school it was worse. No. One. Donned a single costume. Not a single person. And here I was, in a new middle school, establishing myself as the clown girl. In retrospect, I have no idea why I chose clown, because I can do better. But clown it was. So in a way, this only made the walk of shame worse. I wanted to call my mom to bring me a change of clothes. I wanted to pretend I was sick and go home. I wanted to climb into my locker and never ever come back out.
But first, a back story. A back story that may sound a little familiar: There’s something about the chasm of 5th-6th grade, where the girls got really mean. I was kind of in the cool crowd in the fifth grade. And as you may have guessed, that was the extent of my career in coolness as we had arrived at the top of our elementary school. I wore a training bra because I wanted to {not because I needed it} and I was basically the living version of Are You There God? It’s Me, Ashley. I was on the very edge, trying to be all grown up, but not really. I went to Cindy’s Halloween/birthday party, and there were boys. This was a big deal, because in the second grade, boys stopped coming to birthday parties, and there were slumber parties which boys of course, were not invited to. And then in the fifth grade, when boys showed up again, my mom was a bit scandalized when I didn’t tell her. Because really, I didn’t know, and I think she could have prepared herself better for dropping me off with fog machines and a strobe light had she known. But I had arrived.
I had a shirt just like this one. Circa 1990.
At some point along the line that year, I even angered the queen bee, Traci… {I can’t remember if her name was spelled with a Y or an I or an EY} when her ex Josh wanted to go together with me. And by ‘go together’, I mean, to hold hands on the playground. And maybe it was a big deal if a boy called me because my dad would have had a real live silent heart attack. And that was when things took a turn for the worse. I just know that I went to a New Kids On the Block concert, and when I came back the next day wearing a t-shirt, NKOTB was no longer cool. Which in retrospect, is a bit suspicious, because it was totally cool the day before.
It eventually lead to a great schism of 1989 in Mr. Owen’s class, where I headed up one side, and she teamed up with the rest, and let’s just say I didn’t win because frankly, it wasn’t in me. Tracy {Tracey? Traci?} also peaked in the fifth grade, so there’s that.
Oh wait. Nope. It was more like this. We wore the 80’s well. Or maybe it wore us.
Then, when we were shuffled from the public elementary school into the main middle school in sixth grade, and all the kids were mixed up into new groups, things changed. I realized girls really were mean. It was how we survived. And I had to make a choice if I wanted to play the game.
To play the game in Junior High, takes real effort. It’s more of a delicate combo between permissive parents, and going rogue. And if it’s not your thing, it’s just not. I had neither of those things going for me, being an inherent rule follower. I found I just wasn’t programmed that way. I was a painful cross between Sandy in Grease {Minus the sexy John Travolta moment in leather pants afterwards – was John Travolta sexy?} and Tai from Clueless before her makeover. Particularly that moment when she’s in the corner at the party and changes her shirt every time the camera pans to her. It was unfortunate.
And here I was. This was a metaphor for my life. I was the 6th grade girl who dressed up in full-fledged clown costumes and wore it down the hall in a sea of no-one-else-could-be-bothered 8th graders.
This was also unfortunate.
dress up, they said. It will be fun, they said.
Or was it?
I had two choices. I could embrace it, or feel like a dork all day. I was the only one having all the fun.
At least, I could have, if I had chosen to.
I wish, looking back, I could say that I embraced who I was whole heartedly. But I was too distracted.
I should have realized I had a mom who loved me enough to take the time to help me find a costume and paint my face. And a dad who dropped me off in his rocking baby blue Chevette {I so wish I had that car now, because it was really kind of amazing} and enjoyed playing Garth Brooks and singing with me. I should have realized that this too shall pass, and that I would look back at this potentially painfully embarrassing memory and remember the important stuff. But I was too distracted by the fact that I wasn’t ‘cool’. Too distracted by the fact that I was decked in head to toe halloween stereotypical nightmare. Too distracted by the fact that Tracy would have never done such a thing. She was probably in the corner, making out with Josh. And I wouldn’t kiss a boy until I was sixteen.
How badly do I want to visit myself in a time machine and pull myself aside in the hallway? I needed a life coach right then. Someone to smack me out of it. Someone who knew better that I would actually listen to. If I could, I would say this:
LOL.
Jk. I would really say this:
You. Look. Amazing. You’re just trying to figure it all out, like everyone else. You’re doing it in your own way. But you were the one creative enough to actually want to wear a fun costume. I’m not saying it was a creative costume, but fun nonetheless.
And then you know what I would say?
This is just the beginning of awkward, and that’s okay. For what it’s worth, you won’t bloom now, and that’s also okay. These aren’t the glory days, and they aren’t worth blooming for. Duh. Be the one who blooms over and over and over again in her adult years. Oh stop looking so let down. You’ll bloom, but looks will also eventually fade, so I’m not really even talking about that (I said eventually. Calm down. I mean look at me. I’m still looking pretty good, right?! All things considered.) our mom is right, and she’s rocking those pleated jeans. Looks don’t matter. You’ve got what it takes on the inside, girl.
You’re not a rose right now. The world already has plenty of roses. You’re more of a full fledged clown flower and that’s going to pay off later. Just be patient. Embrace who you are. You’re cool in your own way. You just haven’t figured it out yet.
Be a freaking clown flower.
Be the one creative enough to be you, and be awesome at it. One of your biggest life lessons is going to be learning how to be absolutely okay with yourself and who you really are. No matter what situation you find yourself in. Again and again and again. You’ll see. I promise.
Psssst… it doesn’t hurt that you’ll bloom in college, snag the hot older guy {vaguely reminiscent of Jordan Knight} and have three beautiful children, if I do say so myself. Tracey already peaked and Josh will have little mans syndrome. There’s a reason John Hughes films exist.
Now go get ’em, tiger!
And I would smack my bony butt and remind myself that this, also, will pay off later when my lady bits come in.
It didn’t hurt that my friend Jessica also ended up dressing up in head to toe, and I saw her once the walk of shame was over. So I wasn’t really alone. I mean, find your tribe and stuff.
My point?
So for all the people out there who would have found themselves in my situation… metaphorical or real… I say rock that costume. No matter what it looks like for you.
It pays off later.
Even those awkward flower clown moments.
I promise.
Jenna says
This. This might be my favorite post ever. Love this. Thank you for always being so amazingly honest and funny!
Alexis says
One thing I would say to myself: LOL – I die.
Layla K says
NKOTB for the win!!!
ashley @ the handmade home says
YES! Aren’t they touring now? MUST. GO.
Angela says
This is hilarious! Best post ever! NKOTB 4 life. I would have been the one to dress up with you, for what it’s worth.
Karey says
Oh. My. Word!!! Me too! Me too!! Except mine was 7th grade, a new school and I dressed up like Freddy Krueger. Not a good choice I know, but I was into scary movies at the time. I also didn’t think through the costume, my name and a bunch of new kids. Yeah I was known as scary Karey for a few years. Middle school is harsh. So glad I’m not the only one and I can share this experience with someone else. By the way, love the new shop. I’ve already hinted to the hubs that gift cards are in order.
ashley @ the handmade home says
Awe girl. I’m just glad I’m not alone! ;} Yeah. It didn’t get much better for me after that. I transferred to a private school because my parents moved across town, and when I decided to get a spiral perm in the 7th grade {bad call} the boys called me Chelsea Clinton. It was bad. At least they shaped my character??? Good times! For that very reason, I refuse to make my kids switch schools in middle school. It’s a personal nightmare of mine. {Cringe face emoji} ;}
Angela Richardson says
Love this! I’m hoping my daughter has a better time in middle school than me, because dang girls are so mean! Hopefully I’m more prepared to give her good advice because of it.
OMG the Garth Brooks! I remember my friends and I would request it at every school dance and then dance in a big circle. Yay for small town redneck dances!
P.S. Garth Brooks is the man and Thunder Rolls is the best!
Trista says
Awe…my dad and I would sing Garth Brooks too. I’d pretend like I knew every word to “Ain’t Going Down til the Sun Comes Up,” but really I just mumbled the fast parts.
BTW, we’d have been friends in middle school.
Sonia says
Amazing post! Thanks for this – made me smile. My daughter is amazingly surviving middle school with relative grace, but I certainly remember the ups and downs. My own version of your story involved wearing the same pink Benneton shirt as my current arch nemesis/ex-best friend. Accidentally. On twin day. Not a good moment. Cue mean girl comments and me rushing out of French class in tears. Thank goodness middle school only lasts three years!