Mohair and Heartbreak

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It’s been quite awhile since I last posted.  I’ve been so busy with a Bible Study online that just ended last week.  We studied the parables of Jesus, and there were many insights into how we have “dressed them up” for us - and in doing so, have often neglected what Jesus really meant by them.  Great time with great friends!!!  We will be delving into King David in the fall, a chosen man of God who led such a beautiful yet often times sinful life.  If anyone reading this is interested, it will be on Zoom – and you are sooooo welcome to join!  No cost, no book this time…just us in our fellowship with the Lord😊  Email me at vsrisbeck7@gmail.com if interested!

My past blog on my Aunt Helen garnered a lot of positive vibes, as I talked about how she was an “unforgettable” in my life.  We all have unforgettable people that we remember – and we all have those unforgettable situations/moments that we will also never forget.  This blog will speak to both, as I recall an incident that occurred during the end of my seventh grade junior high school year (before we reconfigured and called it middle school).  Not only was the incident unforgettable – and not at all in a good way – it also involved two (now) women who helped me through one of the most humiliating times of my life.  I’ve reached out to both to get permission to write about it, and I hope when they read this it will show them why indeed they are two of my unforgettables. 

I’m going to cut to the chase right off the bat.  I was really not so cute in seventh grade.  Please really study the picture below and you will see what I mean:

Ummmm.....

In addition, I was poor…I wore the same clothes several times a week (washed of course) because we just couldn’t afford many clothes for five kids on my parents’ meager salaries.  And I was tall – standing 5’8, almost 5’9, towering over almost every girl in our class (in addition to some boys!).  But I tried to be friendly with everyone, pushing myself to get out of my depressing home life, but knowing I would never  measure up and/or quite fit in with the “in crowd”. I did have one good, sweet neighbor girlfriend, however, who never failed to make me feel okay – no, better than ok.  Her name was and still is Diane, and I would listen to her for hours about clothes and boys.  Diane was very friendly with everyone, but unlike me she was petite and cute and rather fearless around people.  Still, she welcomed my big geeky presence, and I learned so much from her. I can still hear her laugh today: unforgettable.  Because of who she was, she had another group of friends that she hung out with – Pam, Vicki, Marsha - all short (of course), all friendly, all fun and funny.  And believe me, none of them looked like me.  When I was invited to overnight slumber parties at Pam’s or Diane’s, I thought I was the luckiest person alive.  I felt like I fit in.  I wondered if they maybe just felt sorry for me – but if they did, it never showed.  I felt a particular kinship with Vicki because we shared our same name, and it stood to reason that she and Diane were besties - and are still to this day (unfortunately, Pam and Marsha have since passed).  It was a cool spring twilight evening that seventh grade year when the incident happened, as we girls were walking down Yearling Road going to Pam’s house for the night.  Isn’t it funny how some incidents just are still so vivid some 50 years later – and I can’t even remember what I was doing this time last week???!!!

So on that particular night I was soooo proud.  My mother had somehow wrangled up enough money to buy me a mohair sweater for Christmas from the Boston store near us, and I thought I was finally able to look the part.  Mohair back then was pretty hip, and I really thought I looked pretty cool in it: I told myself the blue of the sweater matched my eyes (although you couldn’t tell because of the glasses).  Still, I felt good.  Sometimes in my dreams I still walk down that road, and that allows me to know how traumatic certain incidents have on our brains.  This one certainly did.  Imagine three petite 13 year-old girls (plus one gigantor one) ambling down the sidewalk, laughing and giggling when a carful of teenage boys pulled up behind them and idled while the light was red.  They slowly pulled up beside us and the car window rolled down (by hand of course… we didn’t have the electronic privileges back then).  We girls looked at each other and sheepishly smiled: who wouldn’t want to have a careful of older boys stop to make contact?  Here’s how the conversation went:

“Hey you girls – how are you?

“Great” called out Diane.  Of course she was our spokesperson – I always admired her courage!

“Where are you headed?” The boy talking had long sandy colored hair and really was pretty cute.

“We are going home – just down the street some” (back then you didn’t have to be so paranoid about people – I miss those days) - again Diane spoke for us all as we looked sheepishly into the car.

“So do you want a ride?”  What an invitation to young teens!  A ride with hot boys – OMG!!!!

We all looked at each other, trying to hide our pleasure at being noticed – by older guys no less!  But before anyone could answer, the cute boy’s voice pierced the night- and my heart:

“Yeah, everyone except the girl in the blue sweater”.

Laughter as the window was cranked back up and they sped away.

There was an instant, silent, yet profoundIly powerful motion of three girls pulling closer to me and all eyes faced forward as they guided me from the spot where my feet seemed frozen.  We were only 10 minutes from Pam’s house, but it seemed like a ten-mile hike.  No one spoke. Once there I immediately went into the bathroom and tried to keep the nausea from becoming a mess.  I was seen all right – just not in the way I had wanted.  I’m not sure how long I stayed in there, but when I finally came out, the girls did not look at me with pity .  They just were who they were.  Best friends, starting to eat and gossip and laugh.  Looking back on it, I’m so glad there was no discussion of what had happened: I’m not sure I could have taken it.  The one thing I do remember was at one point during that night, Vicki brought up what we all might look like after graduation.  I’m sure that was a subtle nod to me that we would all look and be different and not to worry too much about the here and now.  And the beauty of it was that they DID treat me like one of their own, with the fierce loyalty that only young female teens can display.  The incident was never mentioned again, and their caring for me never wavered then or throughout the rest of our school years.

 Even in our most unforgettable, dark moments we can learn so much.  About ourselves.  And about others.  I didn’t interact so much with Marsha or Pam in high school, but I was so blessed to be Diane’s maid of honor at her wedding and witness sweet Vicki’s marriage to her prince Daryl following graduation.  We still are Facebook friends today: some would say forever friends, but I also call them my Unforgettables .  Kindness, friendship and love are never forgotten.  And by the way, Vicki was so right – things do change over time, as was witnessed by my own engagement picture six years from that very time:

Six years later...

I used these two pictures many times when I counseled Middle School girls and always heard sighs of relief from them 😊 BTW…if you ever see an old, blue, worn, and very shaggy mohair sweater in a thrift shop somewhere…let me know.  On second thought, maybe the past is best being in the past.  Blessings to you all!