The Ugly Duckling

Transferring from Mission, an all girls High School~ three months into the school year, put me in
an even more people pleasing position  than usual.  On one hand, for the  first time in my life I  had been introduced to the freedoms of Public School, after the confinement of Catholic. Whoa.
 I walked into one of my classes the first day. Now I don't know if I had Virgin Mary's Child stamped on my forehead, but I traipsed across the front of the classroom [okay, I tried desperately  not to be noticed, like a child who plays hide and seek, who is clearly visible to all] where everyone already knew each other quite well. Who is this newcomer? As I am trying to walk to my seat, I see this pretty, colorful balloon  blown up. I smile. I am thinking..... I like it here, and state how pretty the balloon is. Maybe a party is being thrown in my honor. These public school kids sure know how to have a good time. The whole class is now roaring. Hmmmmmm? Not quite the  reception I anticipated until a burly fellow from the back couldn't hold back, letting me know" it was a rubber." Welcome to Ninth Grade, can I go home now?


I got into the routine of this new life after awhile. I had been used to wearing a uniform for nine years,
so "free dress " every day was soon becoming a chore. On a very limited budget, I had  become very adventurous  putting my duds together. My mom had given me fifty dollars for the year,  even in 1975, I would say especially~ there weren't the deals there are today. " Dittos" pants  were very popular  at the time.  Millers Outpost was selling them for thirty something dollars. I was in a bind.
My mom was not too current on what it would take to make a Former Catholic girl fit in at Public School. I was the only traitor out of six kids to abandon ship from Catholic School,  so it was not smooth sailing, to say the least. [A long boring story why I  abandoned ship, I will tell  you when are  having a bad case of insomnia one night.] Plus the fact that there was little money to go around. I understood,
but fifty dollars was a hard pill to swallow. So I made do. I have  actually made my motto in life,
"Desperation is the mother of invention," from   this experience. I scrounged anything and everything I could from my sisters, my cousins  hand~ me~ downs. Here is the biggest joke, these fashionable
girls that scared me to death would say to me, "Where did you get your clothes they are so cute?"
I am thinking to myself, if you only knew. Well, that would be if I lifted my head to talk. I was horribly
shy. I felt like I had no talking rights. I was in awe of these Public School Gals.

Mrs. Haberlein's  9th Grade Art Class. Loggin's and Messina always on, I thought it was a rule.
The two Tina's sat near the music. They seemed so sophisticated. I sat fascinated watching them work, as the music belted out in the background. Mrs. Haberlein seemed like the kind of person who should have been the lunch lady you would see it Camp Movies. She  wasn't very nice. I had never taken an
Art Class before, and I was just assigned all my new classes, so here I sat for a semester.
Longest semester of my life. I sat next to  these twin sisters, who were extremely outspoken about everything. Incredibly boring, so I did my best to amuse. Took some doing.Always up for this task.


So, the fun, hip Loggins and Messina gals were on the other side of the room.  I was sandwiched between  the twins. Good times.  We had a paper mache  project due.  Most of the people in this class had gone to Junior High together. The closest thing I had seen  was on  The Brady Bunch.
Marcia and the Gang. In Catholic School it was first through eighth,  we didn't  do the " Junior High Thing."
We didn't take all the classes like Art. We  did spend a lot of time thinking about what we were going to say in the Confessional. That is a little like Art I suppose, especially for some of the kids  I knew. They had to be very creative when it was their turn. They must be Picasso's by now.

Back to The paper mache. What can I say?  I felt threatened~  I was way past threatened in this non~art class atmosphere. Except for listening to Loggins and Messina, they were my saving grace. Otherwise I wasn't feeling the love. So as everyone was creating their masterpieces, I began designing  mine. [Maybe not so much designing my duck.] Why I chose that duck, I have no idea. In retrospect perhaps that is how I saw myself, and was crying out. When I knew I wasn't going to get any help, and  had
no tools in my toolbox to help me  at the time, I mocked myself. It was a very familiar role.
Class clown. If I couldn't be great, than I would be a joke.


So, with all  the muster in me, I made it the Ugliest Duck you could imagine. It actually had a charm of it's own, with it's giant lips. Believe me~ I worked with what I had. Insecurity, fear, self doubt, to the best of my ability. The teacher never helped me. I was "one of those." She liked being next to the Loggins and Messina crowd. Who wouldn't? So grading time came. I thought I would get a C.
Passable, it's art~ right? No I got a low D and a disgusted look. I'll never forget it. Granted I didn't take the class seriously, I didn't know how. I needed help. Was totally out of my scope. I used the only skills I had: HUMOR.  The teacher was dry as the Sahara. Good combo for  Art Class.

It was very scarring for me. I hated Art after that. Never wanted to deal with it again.
Life is funny. It makes you deal with your biggest wounds. Of course I marry an Artist.
Not an average Artist, one who is exceptional.Taught our kids to draw from the time they were old enough to put a crayon in their hands. They too are excellent Artists. Writing this is difficult.
My hubby last night said,"It would be good if you wrote about the duck story  now. Healing time."
I felt like fainting and vomiting.  He is right about putting The Ugly Duckling Mythology away.
 It was only a teachers opinion. Obviously it goes so much deeper. Feeling like The Ugly Duckling.
Always scrambling as a child for acceptance and love. Playing the clown for love.
Only later on in life, much later as a mother, did I realize what a truly unkind human being this woman was. Having worked in many classrooms with my kids, I would never have been so negative and insulting to a child, as she was to me. Only in hindsight could I see she was just a truly unhappy woman,
who happened to "teach" art, if you call it that. I now feel sorry for her. That realization has taken me many years to come to.

I have a big knot in my throat. I am very uncomfortable. I am not that 14 year old girl anymore, walking into a new school completely alone, ill equipped. Frightened. No one to turn to.  Doing the best I knew how. Breaking family rules by leaving Catholic School, not understanding Public.  Having no one to talk to. Just surviving. Let the river run. It is. I am free. I love my paper  mache duck. My Ugly Duckling
is transforming into a Beautiful Swan~ as we speak.