As a child, I thought I was the oddball out. Now, I realize there are probably more people like me than I imagined – people driven by questions and a sense that the human race needs to keep pushing forward, do better. What’s more, with the current sociopolitical climate, our numbers are growing.
Hi Sally --thank you for this marvelous post. Here's a bit from an essay I wrote in 2019, "Nobody Loves Rattlesnakes": "I wouldn’t say that I was bullied, but I was the only child of a teen mom from the Midwest plopped down in Queens, New York. Still, I was fortunate enough to return to the family cottage in northern Michigan every summer. Once, my great-grandmother and I were out picking wild strawberries when I found a smooth green snake coiled in part of a rotting log. I wasn’t yet five years old. I touched his soft green scales and looked into his gold eye with its round black pupil.
Back in the city for the school year, I had my pet snakes and green iguanas, and I had a favorite book called Snakes of the World. I especially loved the venomous snakes. Not only did most of them come from faraway places, they were colorful with keeled or smooth scales; they had structured, sculptural bodies; they had heads I longed to touch and eyes I wanted to see for real. Reading about them, I could tell these snakes were both fierce and shy like me. Plus, there were all the other cool details: how pit vipers bear live young or cobras lay eggs in nests they guard...
Broad-sided by puberty, desperate for acceptance, I embroidered snakes and lizards on my jeans and wore them to school. One day, Martha Smith, girl-pack leader in our little Quaker school and the principal’s daughter, came up to me. Like her father, she had thin lips and a serious face all the time.
She looked at me with her small blue eyes. Then Martha said with Quaker-peaceful matter-of-factness, “We think you’re really weird.”
Thank you, Wendy for sharing that story. I wish we could go back to our younger selves and tell them, “Being called weird is a compliment. It says that you’re your own personal and not a follower.” Or, in my case, “Being soft-hearted enough to cry over something you see doesn’t make you a cry baby. It makes you a caring, empathetic person who will grow up to be proud the tears you shed.”
Hi Sally! Nice to meet you. I just subscribed. A little about me: I was visibly handicapped aged 6-11 and instinctively developed strong social skills as a way of protecting myself from ridicule. But inside I grew with a vulnerable, sensitive nature, love of reading, and fondness for those who would help me understand our world. In a party, you’d never know me as that one. But I’d leave exhausted and open a book when I got home. I’ve always sought books not to be entertained but to make me think. Today, my hope is that I’m writing stories for people like us who want to think about the world we live in and the world we’re creating.
As I await Histria Books’ publication of my debut novel, The Flower of Caanan, next year (not long after I’ve turned 82, actually!), I’ve begun my own Substack to express things I think and care deeply about. Please feel welcome to join my free Substack, Sally. I’d welcome your comments.
And thanks so much for informing me about the WIT Festival, which I didn't know about until now. I’ll check it out.
@Tim Flood, I read the story about your mother and the origins of your novel that’s on your website.. Beautifully written and meaningful. Thank you. And congrats on having your novel published! I think we’ve come to a similar place via very different paths. My exploration of the stories of the woman of the Hebrew Bible (for a contemporary novel-in-progress) led to my Daughters of Eve essay-based discussion workbook and journaling guide. As I say in the intro, “Throughout the millennia, the stories of the women of the Bible have been re-interpreted according to whatever the current local culture expected or wanted women to be… now it’s our turn.”
Thoughtful questions work the mind and make one think hard. We need to use our aging brains to keep them pliable and engaged. Go Sally, it is the masses who are the oddballs.
Hi Sally --thank you for this marvelous post. Here's a bit from an essay I wrote in 2019, "Nobody Loves Rattlesnakes": "I wouldn’t say that I was bullied, but I was the only child of a teen mom from the Midwest plopped down in Queens, New York. Still, I was fortunate enough to return to the family cottage in northern Michigan every summer. Once, my great-grandmother and I were out picking wild strawberries when I found a smooth green snake coiled in part of a rotting log. I wasn’t yet five years old. I touched his soft green scales and looked into his gold eye with its round black pupil.
Back in the city for the school year, I had my pet snakes and green iguanas, and I had a favorite book called Snakes of the World. I especially loved the venomous snakes. Not only did most of them come from faraway places, they were colorful with keeled or smooth scales; they had structured, sculptural bodies; they had heads I longed to touch and eyes I wanted to see for real. Reading about them, I could tell these snakes were both fierce and shy like me. Plus, there were all the other cool details: how pit vipers bear live young or cobras lay eggs in nests they guard...
Broad-sided by puberty, desperate for acceptance, I embroidered snakes and lizards on my jeans and wore them to school. One day, Martha Smith, girl-pack leader in our little Quaker school and the principal’s daughter, came up to me. Like her father, she had thin lips and a serious face all the time.
She looked at me with her small blue eyes. Then Martha said with Quaker-peaceful matter-of-factness, “We think you’re really weird.”
Thank you, Wendy for sharing that story. I wish we could go back to our younger selves and tell them, “Being called weird is a compliment. It says that you’re your own personal and not a follower.” Or, in my case, “Being soft-hearted enough to cry over something you see doesn’t make you a cry baby. It makes you a caring, empathetic person who will grow up to be proud the tears you shed.”
Hi Sally! Nice to meet you. I just subscribed. A little about me: I was visibly handicapped aged 6-11 and instinctively developed strong social skills as a way of protecting myself from ridicule. But inside I grew with a vulnerable, sensitive nature, love of reading, and fondness for those who would help me understand our world. In a party, you’d never know me as that one. But I’d leave exhausted and open a book when I got home. I’ve always sought books not to be entertained but to make me think. Today, my hope is that I’m writing stories for people like us who want to think about the world we live in and the world we’re creating.
As I await Histria Books’ publication of my debut novel, The Flower of Caanan, next year (not long after I’ve turned 82, actually!), I’ve begun my own Substack to express things I think and care deeply about. Please feel welcome to join my free Substack, Sally. I’d welcome your comments.
And thanks so much for informing me about the WIT Festival, which I didn't know about until now. I’ll check it out.
Tim
@Tim Flood, I read the story about your mother and the origins of your novel that’s on your website.. Beautifully written and meaningful. Thank you. And congrats on having your novel published! I think we’ve come to a similar place via very different paths. My exploration of the stories of the woman of the Hebrew Bible (for a contemporary novel-in-progress) led to my Daughters of Eve essay-based discussion workbook and journaling guide. As I say in the intro, “Throughout the millennia, the stories of the women of the Bible have been re-interpreted according to whatever the current local culture expected or wanted women to be… now it’s our turn.”
Sally, thanks so much for reading and replying to my post. Your Daughters of Eve looks so interesting I just ordered it. Looking forward to reading..…
Thanks for your support, Tim. Please let me know what thoughts it generates in you.
Thoughtful questions work the mind and make one think hard. We need to use our aging brains to keep them pliable and engaged. Go Sally, it is the masses who are the oddballs.