I’ve rarely told anyone this; however, I’ve recently revealed something that I’d inadvertently done in my life. Since I could remember, I’d begun to realize I would seek out the most geeky, intelligent people to associate with. Too, I wanted depth and kindness in all my interactions with people.
I’d enjoyed being around sometimes quirky girls, geeky guys,
who were brilliant. As well in contrast those who were in remedial reading
classes, or those who couldn’t be mainstreamed into our public education system
back in the 1970’s. Some of the things that these two groups of children had in
common were curiosity, kindness and a willingness to be silly. All of which I
could relate to.
Upon much reflection, I’d wondered if anyone in my childhood
understood what I was doing to the point where I hadn’t even recognized what
type of person I sought out to spend any extra time I’d had with. The tip of
that iceberg came in numerous questions from my mother. The first one I’d
remembered was when I was in seventh grade, “Why aren’t you playing with
someone your own age?” It was as my small friend group were two girls who were about
two years younger than myself, who lived on our block, they were my mainstay of
playtime. One was Nancy, who went to a special school. She was the fourth of
five children. She stuttered quite a bit, yet she had the perfect body for
modeling, and her mother knew so. We were so much alike in certain ways, and
she was so kind. Conversely, the world seemed not so kind to her.
The other girl on our block was Patty, she at the time was
the fourth child of six. Eventually, her family moved to the other side of town
as I’d entered high school, and her mother had a seventh child then. Both Nancy
and Patty’s brothers were in my grade. Nancy’s brother was a mean person, cruel
in fact. Patty’s brother appeared responsible, well-meaning yet innocuous. By
the spring of my eighth grade, I’d become the middle of three children, as my
mother had a successful pregnancy only for the third time in nine pregnancies.
Somewhere between seventh and eighth grade I’d made a friend
who lived across town, Melanie. Melanie was the youngest of two sisters. She
was talented in playing the piano, did well in school, and had a dry sense of
humor. Too, I found her to be kind, and she was a curious type as well. All
four of us lived within about a mile of each other in the same town. The town
had about 4,500 residents in it, combined with mostly upper middle class to the
very wealthy. Our family was the rarity in our little town, lower-middle class,
especially as my mother became more ill. The children that remained in the
public school system went to a regional high school. Our high school was one
town over and provided a public-school education for three towns. In the 1970’s
the population of the children in the school ranged from 1,200 – 1, 500
students. My class was 262 students. 62 were from the town I’d lived in.
Being in such a largely populated high school had its
pluses. Especially, for someone like me. I was able to get involved in sports,
all three seasons, the Booster Club and eventually Choir. Lunchtime was
awesome, I was rarely if ever lonely then. Which contrasted with my middle
school years. Now in this high school I was rarely scared that someone would
steal from me or make fun of me or throw a rock at me and so forth. It was like
the sun came out for me finally.
Going to and competing in sporting events with the teams I
was on had many advantages. I met students from other schools who lived within
two miles of our home then. One in particular, Margaret. Margaret was from Dumont,
which was one town over from mine, it had its own high school. We did
scrimmages against their teams in track and field, and that is how I met
Margaret.
Margaret and I would compete in the two-mile event against
each other at track and field scrimmages and county track meets. Also, there
had been times we’d see each other at cross-country meets as well at Garrett
Mountain. Margaret taught tennis part-time, mostly in the summer. We became
friends in our sophomore year. That summer we would do a two-mile warm-up and
then she would teach me tennis, we would play tennis for hours one to two times
a week. If it rained, we’d play indoor games. I taught her how to play chess. Margaret
was soft-spoken, understood silliness, she was caring and brilliant. Not your
ordinary level of brilliance either. She graduated Dumont high school
Valedictorian. Margaret was the middle of five children. We lived a mile from
each other.
Once again, my mother asked me, “I don’t understand how you
and Margaret are friends. She is not like you at all. She’s very Catholic,
she’s very lady-like and she is a good student.” The non-question question was
‘since you’re not any of those qualities’, how come you’re such good friends? I
replied, “She’s fun, she’s brilliant, she’s kind and she runs the same pace I
do.”
One day, when I’d started dating my mother wondered about
this one boy who’d she’d considered had no qualities that were flattering. I
was fifteen at the time and I’d met him through remedial reading classes in my
sophomore year, where he’d remained throughout much of his high school years.
As for me, the teacher scratched his head one day, four weeks into class that
year and asked me, “Why are you in this class?” I shrugged. A couple of weeks
later I was no longer scheduled for that extra remedial reading class. But
would see that young man who was a grade level above me in the hallways a few
times a week, we’d waive.
One night, after we’d dated my mother asked me as I’d gotten
home from the penny arcade, as the young man drove off I entered our home.
“What do you see in him?” She paused, then continued, “Jody, he not good
looking.” She shook her head as if to say, ‘how could you be seen in public
with such an ugly guy?’ I knew that questioning and that look. I said, “Mom.
He’s kind—we make each other laugh, he can fix cars and he’s safe.” She never
questioned me again about my dating habits. To this day, I wondered what ever
happened in life for him. He probably became an incredibly successful mechanic
for sure. And perhaps wooed another young lady with his nonjudgemental essence.
The other high school friend who’d I enjoyed mostly during
cross-country and afternoons in spring track was Nicole. She too was brilliant,
kind and had an incredibly silly sense of humor that practically mirrored mine.
Although our running pace didn’t match, that wasn’t the connection we’d had. It
was our silliness that matched. We would think of the silliest things that we
knew we probably couldn’t share with anyone else, for perhaps they were just
too corny or something of that nature that would make us giggle. I found out
one day exactly our common silliness when Nicole asked, “Jody, you ever sit in
class and just something goes through your mind, and you begin to giggle? But
yet you have to hold it in. Because no one would understand why something was
so funny that may have nothing to do with the class, or moment that you’re in.”
And of course, with that I began to giggle and say, “Yes.” Then we both
laughed.
My lunchtime friends at school were mostly studious. The
eclectic bunch of us, on at least two occasions per week for lunch, would sit
together in the cafeteria. There would be eight to ten of us all gathered
round, most times listening to the sole boy, Craig, at our table. He was indeed
witty. His creativity was something to marvel at. The group comprised mostly of
theatrical students. I was the only jock at the table it seemed. The rest of
the group were into singing and acting, some were stagehands for plays, some
were in band, and many did the creative designs for plays, art projects around
school. Again, nearly all the students of that lunch group were in honors
classes, many were big readers, and I believe they all had stayed on the Honor
Role most marking periods throughout their four years of high school. In contrast
I took no honors courses. I struggled to comprehend whilst I read more than a
paragraph. Back then, I didn’t ever read for fun. Where many of that group did.
It took me till the fourth marking period of my junior year to finally get on the
Honor Roll. My senior year I was on the Honor Roll all four marking periods. Too,
all of the group except me were headed towards some college; however, myself I
was headed into the Marine Corps.
Today, the people I’ve stuck by the longest as friends mostly
have at least a four-year degree, but usually at least a Master’s degree. Many
have that plus a technical degree as well, quite a few are physicians, or MSW’s
who’ve advanced or who are currently getting their PhD. My husband got three degrees,
as well a Master’s degree and an additional 60 credits in other Master’s areas
and a technical education passing the national boards in my field with well
over 500 hours of study in the field that I worked in for nearly 30 years. When
my mother met my husband back in 1981, he being six years my senior she’d asked
if I’d brought him home for her. I laughed and said, “No. Norman is who I am
dating and he’s only six years older than I.”
My husband read nearly anything in every subject. He read
nearly every day for a minimum of twenty minutes, usually it was 45 minutes to
two hours every day, even while we raised our two daughters he rarely missed a
day till his terminal illness diagnosis which tomorrow marks the six-year anniversary.
The sicker he became, the less energy he had to read. His reading prior to the
illness then influenced our daughters, who both became incredible readers and
in turn well-studied college-bound students.
I can say raising children positively affected my ability to
read better, as did my husband’s ability to read coupled with my own curiosity.
Mind you, I had to work on my dyslexia and reading comprehension problems on my
own; however, common practice of reading and being around those aforementioned brilliant
people, who were kind and had a good sense of humor has been what has led to
much of my success. I now read about 45 minutes to over two hours per day,
usually before I write. --- Jody-Lynn Reicher
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