“Are you a pickle?”
I’d only been to five houses, and this was the third person to ask that question.
“Dad, she thinks I’m a pickle.” Poor Dad. How to console an eight-year-old whom everyone thinks is pickle?
Who ever heard of a pickle with antennae anyway? (Or were they eyes?) I was obviously a Martian. I thought it was a great costume. It wore like a large felt pylon with the tip about six inches over the top of my head and the bottom ending at my knees. It was light green with dark green felt circles of various sizes stapled randomly all over. A hole on each side allowed my arms to carry a pillow case and one in the front, covered with dark green mesh, gave me fresh air and a blurry view of the dusky neighbourhood. At the tip of the head, two green pipe cleaners were affixed, each with a styrofoam ball at the end.
So it hurt my feelings to be mistaken for a pickle. Ruder still were the unimaginative grown-ups who didn’t even bother to guess.
“What are you supposed to be?”
“A Martian.”
“A Martian? You look like a pickle.”
I can’t remember what my dad said in his attempt to comfort me. I only remember the humiliation and frustration caused by being mistaken for something other than what I was trying to be. So it goes. No ones confuses me for a pickle anymore, but I am still pained when snap judgments are made are made about me. Others have perceived me as a slut, a stick-in-the-mud, a prude, a party girl, a lesbian, a know-it-all, a geek, a fool, an intellectual. Maybe I am all of these things. Maybe I am none of them. A single moment in time, presented without context, seems enough to permit a witness to judge for themselves.
If I met a Martian, I would ask what it ate for lunch. I would want to know how the Earth looked from Mars. If I met a pickle, I might ask it how it feels to be a pickle. I would ask if it was hard to breathe in brine and I would want to know if its own salty juices burned its eyes. I wouldn’t ask a Martian if it was hard to breathe in brine. The Martian might think I was insensitive or, worse, insulting.
If I met something green and spotted and I wasn’t sure what it was, I would try to resist blurting out “Pickle!” I know how it feels. I am not a pickle.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Haha! I really enjoyed reading this post. At first, I will admit I thought you were talking about moving neihbourhoods and always being in a pickle. Yah. don't ask why because I am not quite sure.. haha.. anyways..
ReplyDeleteI loved the mild humor you used in the final few paragraphs as well as the way you spoke of how common misconseptions can often hurt. I myself have been labelled many things throughout my life and I know that it doesn't feel so good especially when its not true.
One thing I feel that could have possibly been added is having maybe a paragraph on how certain costumes are so easily deciphered and how yours was constantly mistaken. I guess what I mean to say is explain how you felt when you seen other children getting praise for their costume and you getting embarassed over yours.
Overall I really enjoyed reading this piece. Not only was it humorous but also heartfelt. Way to go! Good job:)!!
I really find your posts entertaining and interesting.. your writing style is addictive. You truly understand the idea of creative non-fiction.
ReplyDeleteFor me, I almost read this post as if it were talking about stereotyping or racism etc.. you focused on the idea of the first impression, what people can see from the outside... people make assumptions about other people daily and I think this was a very cute way of addressing the issue.
Very well done!! I am looking forward to reading your future posts!
First of all, I thought this post was funny and fresh. A martian is a hard costume to nail, solely because no one has seen one (not while awake anyway). Your answer to this = imagination.
ReplyDeleteI like how the title is the answer to the first line of the piece- it's neat. Your emotion becomes prevalent in the third paragraph (the long one). It is obvious you are young and frustrated, which is why it was a good memory to hang onto for a blog entry. This example from your childhood is relative to the ignorance that people can exude. That being said, ignorance is something that you may have suffered on a variety of levels.
"Snap judgments" as you put it, along with prejudice, fuel a lot of unnecessary problems, and it's funny how something as, well, small as mistaking someone's costume transcends to real-world social affairs.
This is very creative thinking and I just can't for the life of me think of something to advise you to change. It's like a sort of light-hearted activist speech, and it got me thinking.
Wow!
ReplyDeleteThis reminds me of when I was in grade 2 and was visiting my dad. One of his co-workers, James came into our house and commented to my dad on how he had such a handsome little fella. I pretended not to hear, but my brain was all over the place. I wanted to be cute, pretty, beautiful, princess-like or even just a darling little girl. I blurted out, "I am not a boy. I am a girl." Thinking of the pickle story, I could totally relate! As adults, we have to remember to not just blurt out what we think we see, but ask questions to get to what we are suppose to say. I can tell you first hand that it can be very traumatizing to a child, if you say the wrong thing. I found myself brushing my hair and putting on very girly clothes when I knew this man would be coming over, from that day forward.
I did not see the predjustice issue in your writing that others picked up, but perhaps I missed it. I read your post for what it was.... excellent and true to the matter at hand. Maybe I am just a little sensitive. Hahah. I just saw the past as trying to make a point about people mistaking other people for something that they are not.