LJ Idol Season Nine: Week 0: Introduction
I still sometimes burn grilled cheese.
How can you say you’re a finished product, a grown adult, if you still burn grilled cheese? It’s the easiest thing in the world.
Knowing that this mold is unfinished, the clay is still wet, introductions make me nervous. I would sit in class-as a student or as a teacher-and feel the weight of the first day introductions. First impressions and all that. I’ve troubled over this one, too.
So my introduction is this:
I'm Stacie. For some of us, that name may conjure a long-ago book character, diabetic, boy-crazy, math-savvy, and fashionable. For others, it’s the name of one of Barbie’s kid sisters. Maybe a Stacie/ey/i/y wronged you-maybe you’d never name your kid Stacie/ey/i/y because of an experience with one (a common teacher’s complaint when searching for baby names of all types).
I want-WANT-to throw out a list of nouns that describe me: mom, wife, daughter, sister, friend, graduate student, adjunct professor. And those nouns tell some. They don’t tell all. They mark me by playing on the meanings you have for those words.
Mom states a reality. It doesn’t tell the adjectives I feel when I look at my two boys-delight comes quickest to mind, as does tired, overwhelmed, lucky.
My nouns don’t tell about the little girl who rode her swing set’s plastic horse (named Clip Clop) while singing “Horse with No Name” in the backyard. They don’t tell you that the 15 in my user name is from my long-ago soccer number, and that the high schooler who wore it wanted nothing more to wear it on a varsity jersey-and never got to. They don’t tell about the moment when the first year law student pressed send on the email that notified the dean she was withdrawing from the school-the weight of that moment, the pause before clicking.
So knowing that individual words are sometimes inadequate, sometimes the words change, the nouns provide the starting point, the adjectives thicken the paint, the verbs embolden the brush-knowing the best way to know someone is to know them, to live in their heart and their shoes, to walk with them as they show you their soul. Knowing that any person is a collection of moments that mold their world and color their spirit. Knowing that any moment the grilled cheese-the easiest thing in the world-can burn, change, show the face of Jesus or just a blackened mess.
Knowing all this, I invite you to know me. Walk with me, ask me questions. We’ll learn about me together. I’m looking forward to knowing you, too.
How can you say you’re a finished product, a grown adult, if you still burn grilled cheese? It’s the easiest thing in the world.
Knowing that this mold is unfinished, the clay is still wet, introductions make me nervous. I would sit in class-as a student or as a teacher-and feel the weight of the first day introductions. First impressions and all that. I’ve troubled over this one, too.
So my introduction is this:
I'm Stacie. For some of us, that name may conjure a long-ago book character, diabetic, boy-crazy, math-savvy, and fashionable. For others, it’s the name of one of Barbie’s kid sisters. Maybe a Stacie/ey/i/y wronged you-maybe you’d never name your kid Stacie/ey/i/y because of an experience with one (a common teacher’s complaint when searching for baby names of all types).
I want-WANT-to throw out a list of nouns that describe me: mom, wife, daughter, sister, friend, graduate student, adjunct professor. And those nouns tell some. They don’t tell all. They mark me by playing on the meanings you have for those words.
Mom states a reality. It doesn’t tell the adjectives I feel when I look at my two boys-delight comes quickest to mind, as does tired, overwhelmed, lucky.
My nouns don’t tell about the little girl who rode her swing set’s plastic horse (named Clip Clop) while singing “Horse with No Name” in the backyard. They don’t tell you that the 15 in my user name is from my long-ago soccer number, and that the high schooler who wore it wanted nothing more to wear it on a varsity jersey-and never got to. They don’t tell about the moment when the first year law student pressed send on the email that notified the dean she was withdrawing from the school-the weight of that moment, the pause before clicking.
So knowing that individual words are sometimes inadequate, sometimes the words change, the nouns provide the starting point, the adjectives thicken the paint, the verbs embolden the brush-knowing the best way to know someone is to know them, to live in their heart and their shoes, to walk with them as they show you their soul. Knowing that any person is a collection of moments that mold their world and color their spirit. Knowing that any moment the grilled cheese-the easiest thing in the world-can burn, change, show the face of Jesus or just a blackened mess.
Knowing all this, I invite you to know me. Walk with me, ask me questions. We’ll learn about me together. I’m looking forward to knowing you, too.