We all know that I’m a bit of a nerd. It’s been established that I’ve had some cool and uncool moments. Those of us that read this blog understand that though strange, I am a pretty groovy person. Today, as I discovered two purple tubs of my old junk, I realized something for the first time. Much of the weird phases in my life could have been avoided and my pain lessened if my parents had just had an intervention.

Take this for example:

What is it? It’s a button. It’s one button among about forty other buttons that are pinned to the first denim jeans jacket I ever owned. I wore it to the last day of first grade and probably at least 200 to 300 other days of my life. I loved that jacket and I was incredibly sad to get too fat to wear it when I was a little girl. The jacket and the buttons aren’t the issue here. The issue is that I used a button maker to create a plain button with my nickname in Crayon, with a smiley face, a heart, and an ugly flower. I mean seriously. What sort of unknowing nerdy narcissist would make this horrible button? And keep it for so many years? I was tempted to throw it away but I couldn’t do it. This is just too good. I needed to keep it. If I ever get down to my Weight Watchers goal weight and then lose another fifty pounds, I just might be able to fit into this jacket. Then I can die from being too thin and then I can be buried in this jacket. I think that would be amazing.

Oh, you don’t think that button was bad. What about these?

I was a math wiz when I was in grade school and junior high. I really was one of those nerdy math people. Even now, I’d probably do better on the math portion of the GRE without studying. But for some reason, my passion for math wasn’t there. I found that misusing words I read in books was too much fun and drew the right amount of attention to myself that I changed my focus. Perhaps if my mom had listened to those meetings at our school about technology and math being the most important subjects and then pushed me to study them in college, I wouldn’t be unemployed right now…

Waaa… Waaa… you say? Shut-up and quit your whining? I agree. I just have one more point when I think my parents should have intervened.

I got a Star Badge for five years in a row and when they changed the award to Pirate Gold in sixth grade, I got that too. Come on parents – I was a goody two shoes. None of the other kids liked me because I was a tattle-tale. Plus, I was one of those pious kids who pointed my finger at the kids who were swearing and condemned others for not following directions. Instead of a Star Badge, I needed a therapist. Instead, I’ve had to discover my own methods of therapy: shoe shopping, purple journals, and several larger sizes and styles of jeans jackets.

I’m happy to say that currently, I don’t think I need any interventions… unless perhaps someone has a grand job waiting out there that they just know I would be perfect for. If you’re out there listening and you’re thinking that, please, intervene. Interrupt my busy schedule of reorganizing my yellow purse, applying to jobs, and washing my half-dirty clothes with a great job offer. I’m totally game.


2 thoughts on “Intervention

  1. while I don’t have lots of “stuff” from my childhood, I do still have all of my Cabbage Patch Kid dolls packed away in a tub. I am saving them for posterity – and my child, if I ever have one. I don’t care what anyone tells me, I am NOT getting rid of them. Even the ugly ones. (Okay, maybe if one of them turns out to be worth $1 million. But even then… I just don’t know if I could force myself to part with them.)

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