Perspective

For no particular reason, the other day I thought of a couple things people had written in my high school yearbook. It's been years since I've pulled them out and looked at them, but there's always that memorable entry that I can't help but remember. Here's two:

From a good friend, male: "...You're the smartest girl person I know...."
From a less-close friend, female: "You're so smart! And still so cute. How do you do it?"

Both of these comments came out of my high-profile status my senior year in high school. I qualified to be in a prestigious scholarship competition, and so I became every teacher's favorite, the principal learned who I was, they put my name up on the marquee, an article in the paper, all in the effort to make academics seem more important and glorifying. And so I became the Smart Girl.

Now, I do pride myself on being a Smart Person. But a Smart Girl? Why is that so distinctive? Why do girls think they have to act dumb to be cute? Girls do it; I've seen it. It's a little heartbreaking. I guess my discomfort with the fact that my smartness and my female-ness were so unusual, so remarkable, is what has made me remember those two comments from two friends, made in passing, but reflecting a general attitude that we don't stop to think about. 

So, I do enjoy being a Smart Person, with accomplishments and awards that at some distant point in the past people recognized what kind of brain I had. But, lest I make too much of myself, here is a point of view to make me laugh at myself. An excerpt from a blog I read this morning:

He had his whole family with him at his table and prior to his speech he had been holding his new daughter Rosie. He walked to the podium, grasped the sides and said, "I know you are all wondering how it feels to be the Pulitzer winner. Well, I'll tell ya. It's awfully hard to feel cool when you are continually being shat upon by another human being." He then stepped to the side so that we could see his crap stained pants.

A few months ago a single friend asked me what about motherhood had surprised me the most. And, since my son had recently been sick, I had a pretty good answer: "I never thought my reaction to vomit would be, 'Please, throw up on me (instead of the couch)! I'm washable!'" Motherhood challenges me in ways that I'll never get a diploma or an award for, but I'm perfectly content with a good hug. My son is a very good hugger. I hope he teaches his sister to do the same.