Essay #3 Rough Draft

Sarah Schumacher

Lana Oweidat

Writing and Rhetoric 1

4 Dec. 2013

The Sour Wallflower

Ever since I was born, I’ve always been a quiet person. Still up to this day, it’s not uncommon for me to here the sarcastic words of, “God, Sarah, stop talking!” It isn’t that I don’t like to talk, I just prefer to sink into the background of social situations so that I can listen and take in the world around me. Unfortunately in this society, the ability and desire to listen to and experience the world around you is not as highly valued as being able to use logic to take charge of situations. That is why for so long I tried to change my personality, thinking that some part of me wasn’t good enough. I could not understand why social interaction seemed to come so easy to others, but when I tried to put myself in an uncomfortable situation my face would turn red, my hands turned sweaty, and my voice would shake. Only recently have I come to accept this aspect of my personality, but I would not be who I am today without the events and influences from my childhood.

            The earliest incident I remember happened in sixth grade. We were on a class trip to COSI, the science museum in Columbus, and I was having a great time with my friends. The whole morning I was looking forward to seeing the IMAX movie – a film about coral reefs, if I remember correctly - after eating lunch. When everyone was finished eating their packed lunches, we followed the teachers to what seemed to be the biggest movie theater in the world at the time, and were ushered into the rows near the top. While waiting for the lights to dim, I began hearing the boys sitting behind me making goat sounds, saying “Baaaaaaaaaaah.” At first I didn’t think anything of it because I just thought they were being stupid, but I quickly realized that their intentions were aimed in my direction. For some reason, one of them had mentioned that I looked like a goat, and because of their group mentality, they all began calling me “Goat Girl.”

            For weeks I was called names and made fun of by this stupid group of immature boys, and in all that time I never spoke a word about it to any of my teachers because I was painfully timid, and did not want to cause any trouble. Years later, I realized that I was in fact bullied. However, at the time I was not very bothered by it. Rarely did I ever cry about those sorts of things, I more just wanted to understand why they would insult me so much without really knowing much about me.

            Later that year, another incident occurred, which again brought about the same feelings of humiliation and misunderstanding. Two girls in my grade who I believed to be my friends, again, bullied me. They told me that they had seen a picture of me with red eyes, and that they knew I was a vampire. At first I played along with the joke by chasing them around and hissing, but they quickly took it too far and began alienating me. For almost a week straight they stopped talking to me, and everyday at recess they ran up behind me, screamed, and ran away. I asked them to stop, and when they wouldn’t, I finally decided to tell a teacher. The girls were angry because they thought I was overreacting, but I know now that it was the right thing to do, and at that time I knew it was the right decision since I had remembered my last experience. That was when I realized that I had to speak up in order to stand up for myself and make my opinion heard.

            Opening up and losing the fear of being judged was a long process and lasted throughout most of my grade school career. My quietness would often frustrate me because I would be too afraid to ask questions in class or I would be terrified if someone talked to me who I didn’t know. This fear really hurt my mind in the long run, because eventually I fell into a spell of mild depression, all caused by the fact that I was quiet and scared to make new friends, as well as my boyfriend at the time leaving the country for eight months. I felt very lonely, but very quickly overcame that feeling as I began to make new friends as I forced myself to join clubs in the hopes that I could bring a change into my life by asserting myself more. I very quickly found my niche in the tech crew of the Drama Club – not as one of the actors because I’d rather be working behind the scenes where no one can see me – and made one of my best friends, who introduced me to new ideas of Buddhism and Shamanic practices, as well as a whole new world of literature I had never discovered. He introduced me to Alan Ginsberg, a beatnick writer who I still remain a fan of. Since then, I regularly practice meditation, which played a part in me accepting who I am. The beginning of senior year was the turning point of my independence.

            That year, I felt a sense of freedom I’d never felt before. Turning 18, and realizing that there was an end to that way of life and pretty soon I could decide my own future. Along with the rest of my class, my mindset changed and I no longer felt the need to impress anyone or care about what they thought. Sure I felt a small bit of sadness when I graduated, leaving them all behind, the people I grew up with for 10 years, but more than anything I was happy to leave that part of my life behind and begin the next part, in a completely new environment. By the end of the year, I realized that I was just as good as anyone else was in my own way, because I gained confidence through forming my own ideas and overcoming the fear of social situations. No longer did I fear what someone would think about me if I spoke my mind, because I discovered that my opinions were just as valid as anyone else’s and that every human is equal.

            Back in seventh grade, I ran track, under the authority of one of the meanest coaches at my school. I remember my coach – who was later my social studies teacher –  and this incident very well because it was the first time I openly stuck up for myself against an authoritative figure. I had missed a practice because I pulled a muscle in my neck and could not run for a day. She insisted that I could not come back to practice until I had a doctor’s note, but I did not go to the doctor because there was no need. The next day, I showed up at practice, hoping she had forgotten about the note, but instead she screamed my name asking why I was there. I told her I didn’t have a note, but I was very capable of running. Instead of talking to me, she instead began screaming at me that I had defied her and that my mom made a coaches decision by sending me to practice. I then told her “I’m pretty sure my mom has more authority over me than you,” and she proceeded to call my mom. My mom also stood up for me, insisting that my coach was forcing me to miss more practice and fall farther behind, just to prove her authority.

            I have always been very proud of that story because I gained enough confidence in myself to stand up for what I thought was right, and was rewarded for it, as my coach then allowed me to practice that day. I later learned that that incident was the first time that my current boyfriend noticed I existed, further proving my point that it’s important to stand up for yourself and have self confidence in order to be noticed and admired. Although my coach disliked me for the rest of the year, she later told me that she admired my determination. She then proceeded to try to persuade me into becoming a cheerleader, but I kindly and firmly declined, because I would rather die than have to be a cheerleader. Again, a reflection of my personality. I have always considered cheerleaders to be attention-seekers, and the idea of cheering for other people as it’s own sport seems very degrading. I would prefer to be the one being cheered for. However, sports were never really my area of strength or interest.

            My interests always lay with my strengths, such as the art of writing and poetry. Throughout high school I took up the habit of carrying a small notebook around with me to my classes. Sometimes if I could spare the time, and felt the rush of inspiration, I would attempt to write poems about things around me, and to try to analyze situations, thinking about them through different perspectives. This led to my alienation from many members of my class. As I observed the people around me more and more, I began to understand and notice patterns between people’s interactions. And from my perspective as the quiet girl in the back, who rarely said anything that didn’t need to be said, I began to see the central motivations of people’s actions, and compare them to today’s culture.