this i believe

I admit that I am an NPR Junkie. The radio is usually on in the background, tuned in. Even at night, I somehow feeling safer hearing the BBC News reporting the latest. One of the shows that moves me most though, is This I Believe.

This week there was an essay from Brighton Earley. It is on the importance of flexibility to survive the sometimes difficult things that life dishes us.

Brighton's story certainly brought up issues for me. I certainly could relate. I was in a somewhat similar situation when I was her age. I was attending Catholic school in LA while being raised by my mother. Of course in my last two years of high school I felt like someone had waved a magic wand and turned me into a princess.

I had my own room with a private bath in a brand new condo on the West Side. My mother drove a brand new BMW. We had beautiful new furniture. I had a stock pile of pretty clothes. To the outside world, it looked like life was good. But there is always more to the story.

I have always struggled with unworthiness. It is hard not to when you believe that you never should have been, and that your existence caused so much pain.

On some level I must have realized it, but my room was the only room in the house with furniture from our previous apartment. I still remember confronting the dean of discipline (and my future history teacher) when I didn't have the proper uniform shirt. It was on order. At my last school we wore powder blue shirts. At my new school it was white, but I didn't have a plain white button-down shirt in my wardrobe. The best I could come up with was an ivory silk shirt I found in my mother's closet. I still remember saying to him that just because my mother had bought a new home, everyone thinks she has money. I explained that this wasn't true.

What was true, and what I didn't say is that my mother had let me have it. After I had been accepted to the school over the summer my mother was informed that she was three months behind in the tuition (she selected the monthly installment plan). Then there was the crazy overpriced uniform company. According to the school list I needed to purchase a blazer. This meant I only got one skirt and a sweater. And the two shirts I had ordered were out of stock, but paid in full. And of course there were my books and other supplies. My mother made it clear that she was spent. I feared asking her for anything.

During my tenure at the school, she would 'forget' to pay my tuition on more than one occasion. Of course instead of confronting the parent, the school reminded the students. I was actually prevented from taking one of my last final exams and spent the class period in the bathroom crying. I remember her telling me that I could have just asked instead of being such a drama queen about it.

Of course money was one of the least of my problems. There were secrets. Deep, dark secrets. Things I feared my classmates learning about. That was such a crazy time. But I survived. I have great hope that Brighton will as well.



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