Report Cards...

Other students got notes on their report cards like: "A joy to have in class." or "Needs to speak up more during class participation."

She didn't get either of those. Nobody ever encouraged her to share more. Or to participate in the general discussion. 

No teacher would ever describe her as a joy in class. She wasn't a bother either. Not a trouble maker. Just very quiet. Kept to herself. And that wasn't really an issue to anyone.

There was one time in third grade when her teacher seemed as though he was going to encourage her to speak up, but then he stopped. 

She had to imagine he mentioned her in the teacher's lounge and was corrected from this path. 

Something that didn't happen to her either. 

Being corrected from her path. 

That's what the school she attended called it. Students weren't wrong. They just needed some correction. Which really meant they were wrong. Like areas of improvement meant you we're messing up and need to fix this now. But people like to use soft words and phrases so they say things like areas of improvement and in her school, corrections on your path. 

So she imagined that her third grade teacher had gotten a correction to his path and from that point forward left her alone with her thoughts.

Which was fine with her. 

People only pretended to want to know what other people thought anyway. 

And they really only wanted to know what other people thought if it agreed with what they thought. 

She saw it all the time when everyone around her would argue over everything from movies to music to politics to fashion. They didn't want to know what someone else thought, they wanted to know who agreed with them so they could cull the herd. 

Figuratively, of course. 

They weren't really culling. Just curating. Tightening their bubbles. Reinforcing their own beliefs with a bunch of other people who believed the same thing.

She didn't fit into any of their bubbles so they all left her alone. 

Some by instinct.

Some by experience.

Some by hearing the stories.

Which is what she think happened in third grade to that teacher. He must have heard the story. 

Kindergarten. 

Reading a story in sharing circle about counting sheep to get to sleep. 

"How do you get to sleep?"

She remembered everyone answering the question. She still had opinions about their answers. Though she had always kept them to herself.

"My mother sings me a lullaby" I've heard your mother sing in carpool, I'd try and get away from that as quickly as possible too.

"I count backwards from 100." Nobody was really sure he could even count forward to 100 but sure, he counts backwards. 

"I count sheep!" Oh you do not. You've never even heard of counting sheep before this story!

"I count sheep too!" Oh come on now, this is silly!

"Me too! I count all the sheep. But my sheep jump over a fence!" That seems really active for sleep time.

"My sheep all stand in a field." Well, they are sheep. What do you want them to do? I guess maybe jump over a fence.

And then...

"Grace? What about you? What do you do to get to sleep?"

"I imagine someone sewing my eyes shut so that no light gets in and I can just fall into the dark."

And that started a year of seeing the school counselor. And then the barrage of therapists outside of the school when that did not correct her from her path. Even though no one could explain why her answer was any worse than picturing livestock jumping over a fence. 

But it got her out of class discussions. 

And it kept her from getting remarks on her report card. 

......

She closed her eyes and imagined the first stitch closing out the light. Deep breaths. Total darkness. Her own path. No corrections needed.