I am often accused of over-sharing , and I will openly admit that usually, I am guilty as charged. Sometimes it is because I am trying to be funny, (self-deprecation being my preferred brand of humour), and other times (usually when I have no choice but to talk to someone who is clearly freaked out by my existence), it’s to make me seem more relatable or put them at ease, to make the situation more bearable for all concerned. This doesn’t always work by the way.
In the year I turned twenty-one, I was invited to a lot of twenty-firsts. mostly those of school friends, who made up the bulk of my friendship group at the time. There was one invitation that I received though, which made me want to shrivel up and die. Something I’m pretty sure a party invitation is not supposed to do.
Here’s the story…
One night I got a random call from a person who went to the same high school as I did, but who was several years ahead of me, and to whom I had never spoken (no idea how they got my number). They said they were arranging a surprise twenty-first birthday party for their partner (also in my year) and wanted me to come. Now, before you jump to any conclusions, yes there was a real party and yes, the partner was in my year. But it had been almost four years since we graduated, and I’d had absolutely no contact with them since that time. Given this, and the fact that I don’t think we even shared any classes, I was a bit confused by the whole thing.
My hesitancy did not deter them, though, and they insisted on giving me the details, along with a few suggestions for gifts. Then they added,” by the way, there might be some kids there too, and they have probably never seen anyone that looks like you before. So don’t be offended if they stare at you, or laugh, or whatever. Ok?”
I must have sounded a little taken aback, because the caller went on to tell me a story, which I think they assumed would explain their advice.
“When you started year eight, our Head of Year told us all about you at assembly. He advised us we weren’t to stare at or bully you, but to help wherever we can, if you needed it.”
I felt like throwing up. Gee mate, way to make a girl feel ‘special!’ “Why the hell was he bringing this up, now?” I thought to myself.
While the original extremely miss guided speech was probably well intentioned, (it was the 90s, and I’m sure the school was as experienced with disability as they were with taming lions), it was also assumably not meant for my ears.
Come to think of it, it’s a miracle I didn’t end up as a massive target, with a huge spotlight like that thrust upon me . I was never really bullied there though. Except by this one, no doubt inadequately endowed arsehole for whom roughing me up on the regular for a year, made him feel like a big man. But he was actually in the same grade as I was.
Oops, I digress…
The call ended not long after, but because at the time, I had not yet fully accepted that I was disabled, or funny. Looking, (or wasn’t fully allowed to, as the case may have been), the effects of knowing that assembly had ever taken place, took much longer to get over.
I did not go to the party.
XOXO
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