My Awkward Years

Blooming into the young, delicate flower I am today did not happen over night. Actually, if my looks were a flower, they’d be one of those rare species that gardeners love to nurture for years and year and years just so that they can peak for about five minutes before they decompose.

The awkward years span from third grade to my second year in college (which for those of us keeping score, means now). In family sitcoms or in the case of 99% of the human population, the awkward years only span a few months or a few years. A few pimples here, a little frizzy hair, and then magically, the kid’s got straight teeth, a nice, cancun tan, and that skinny, bony frame is just a blip in the scrapbook. But not me. Oh no. I was blessed with thick, uncontrollable dark hair, pale, pale skin, and a fast metabolism that means any chance of some nice boobs are so out of the question. 

Third grade was one of the roughest years. A combination of a poor hair dresser and a mother who thought a short haircut would be cute, led to a boy type hair cut on my dainty head. It was not cute. It was not even cute in that “aww, cute kid with a crappy haircut” way. I’ve hid most of the pictures. I only use them now to reference “The Beginning of the Awkward Phase.” 

Being all legs and constantly tripping over myself and flat ground was especially amusing during fourth and fifth grade. I even got braces, the first girl in my grade, which made me especially cute. Being that I hit 5′5” in fifth grade, clothes were also a bit of an issue. My poor mother tried, but nothing really fit that was modest enough for an oversized ten year old to wear. Anything that did fit was made for teenagers in their Britney Spear’s phases and everything that was modest enough to cover the midriff of a ten year old, could not cover my midriff due to the fact that I was, in fact, a ten year old giant.

Junior high was a little better, but my parents are republicans, so I wasn’t allowed to dress like a slut. Unfortunately, dressing like a slut was kind of the trend when I was fourteen, so I was mainly awkward because I was not allowed to look like a young hooker. 

In high school, I finally began to go lose some of the awkward stuff. Because I finally stopped growing, my parents felt comfortable shelling out the dough to buy me pants that did not look like I was preparing for a flood. Indeed, being skinny was no longer embarrassing, but kind of nice. The pale skin was still an issue, but modern technology at least allowed the frizzy mess of fuzz on my head to fall down my shoulders in nice, straight lines. 

Of course, I still could not control my body. I tripped over just about everything, including lines on the basketball court or just myself. My reactions were a bit delayed, which meant in volleyball practice, it wasn’t uncommon for me to be hit in the face. Or to hit myself in the face. I have a lot of limbs and they’re pretty hard to control. So, I often ended up with punctures to my face that I had to create stories for just so I wouldn’t make a fool out of myself when people questioned why in fact, I had a two inch gash on my nose (went to raise my hand, accidentally hit myself in the face).

I have discovered that awkwardness is directly proportional to how comfortable you feel about yourself. So, things got pretty awkward my freshman year in college when I wasn’t too pleased with my life. My curly hair began to take over my life and I stopped wearing make up. Not that make up is necessary to be pretty (I still rarely wear it), I just find that make up is one of those things that just makes you feel better about how you look. 

If my awkwardness was a graph, I would say I am on the descend. I mean, I’ve still got probably another year until I stop dropping my computer on my face (yes, that happened) or stop tripping in high heels (that happened two weeks ago!). Indeed, my pale skin is still pale–although, now I say it is fair and being conscious of skin cancer is almost kind of hip, so I just say that I’m watching out for melanoma. No one can badger a girl for avoiding cancer, can they?