Still Looking for My "Fit"

I have never “fit in.” From the time I practiced “Bunny hops” for my upcoming ice skating lesson and was stopped and informed I was, “black and ugly, like my (black and white hounds-tooth) skirt,” to the cotillion I wasn't invited to participate in because it was assumed I didn't want to learn to waltz, or more so, that I would be partnered with someone’s precious lily white son, it was clear, I don’t “fit.”

All the times I went swimming and had my hair go from relaxer, blow dried straight, to tightly coiled and was, therefore, pet like a puppy without the thought that I might not like that, I knew I didn't “fit.” As the one caramel colored face in the GATE group in elementary school to being the one on the sidelines cheering my team to victory with high kicks and a booming voice, I didn't “fit.” As I wandered the infamous groups during the middle and high school lunch table striations and was greeted, possibly even asked to sit, I heard about all the sleepovers I wasn't invited to and the parties I didn't know about until that moment. So, I floated to another group wondering what I did wrong not to “fit.”

It became crystal clear when I learned my blue-eyed surfer type boyfriend (who adored me as did his parents) told me his southern grandmother was coming into town and that his parents thought it best to keep me from her as she might not be as receptive. This on the heels of bused-in girls destroying any thought of a place to “fit” as they hit me with a barrage of,  “Oreo,” “Wanna be,” “Sell-out,” and “Are you mixed?”

My not “fitting” goes far beyond race, however. It’s my love of reading and writing, lack of patience for ignorance, deep loyalty, outspokenness, dance-floor-loving, scream-at-the-game on TV, sarcastic, intellectual,  square-peg-in-a-round-hole-ness. An odd combination, even I admit.

As I look at social media and see all of the grown-up girl fun I am still not invited too, am still not a part of, I come to the same crossroads: do I make myself fit, or keep wandering the lunch tables on the chance that there is somewhere out there where I can “fit.”

Each year, as I look at my students, I see the same thing and tell kids not to change, but that if they keep looking, there will be someone like them out there and that they shouldn't have to morph into something they are not to force a “fit.” It’s hard, but better than being literally stripped of the threads that make you who you are.

As for me, I continue to wander, make polite conversation, spend my free time alone, quietly smile, volunteer and show as much enthusiasm as I can while I search for a place where I can find a “fit.” A place where teenage dreams have transformed into the woes of career and family, where coffee dates, phone calls "whine and cheese" sessions and weekend girls' getaways happen just every so often. Not so desperately seeking a place to "fit" as hoping it's still possible. I'm complicated. ;-)