Trigger Warning: This is a long one. 😉
When I was in high school, I took a couple of different English classes in the same semester.
One day, during class, one of my teachers handed me a note. It was a request for an evening meeting, later in the week. I had been in these meetings before and was more than a little afraid, even though she assured me that I wasn’t in trouble.
When my parents and I arrived at school, a few days later, both my teachers were sitting at a table, waiting for us. They told my mom and dad that they believed my writing abilities were exceptional. It wasn’t because of my grammar skills, I still struggle with that. 🧐
I was confounded. Two of my teachers had gotten together to talk about their best students and I was among them. They told my parents that they would like to recommend me to The Talented and Gifted Association, for further education in this area of study. They told my parents that my writing showed real promise.
I sat there listening to one of the most demanding teachers I have ever had, talk about how I stood out from the other students. ME, a student who had always struggled to pay attention in class. I was a kid who rarely got an A, outside of elective or physical education classes.
My parents sat there listening to them lift me up. Then, declined the offer for what could have been a life changing opportunity. As we walked across the parking lot, I had a mix of emotions swirling around inside my chest as my parents agreed that this meeting was an attempt at “a money grab.”
What I realized, in that moment, was that my parents didn’t believe in me. What made it worse was the idea that my teachers had presented this option in order to financially profit off it; not because I was an outstanding student but because they could use me as a source of income.
I never really believed that to be true but one thing was certain, my parents didn’t believe in me enough to invest in my future. They didn’t believe that I could be exceptional.
Certain missed opportunities have haunted me all my life. When my piano teacher told my parents that I was coming along faster than the rest of her students, my parents stopped my lessons. They feared that my grades were being negatively affected by my love of music. After I graduated high school—the only “man” in my family to do so with my class—I asked my parents for an inexpensive keyboard, so I could take up piano again. I told them it was the only thing I wanted for Christmas that year.
A week before the day arrived, a large package appeared beside the tree with my name on it. It had the dimensions of an electric keyboard and was heavy. I waited as the days dragged by, my anticipation growing by the hour, until the day had finally arrived.
My mom always doled out the presents, like she was one of Santa’s elves, so that we would be able to watch each other open our presents. My keyboard sat there, beside the tree, calling to me. Until, at last, it was my turn. I had opened the packages containing underwear, socks, the obligatory assortment of Lifesavers candy, a shirt and new pair of jeans. Now, it was time!
The anticipation grew as I walked over to the package and ceremoniously removed the wrapping paper, in a way that would allow it to be reused for a handful of presents next year. As I peeled the corner of the paper back, revealing the box beneath, I quickly realized that it was not a piano but, instead, an unassembled stereo cabinet.
I remember walking down to my friend Randy’s house and, with a broken spirit, telling him that I would not be playing piano alongside him after all.
Months later, Randy told me that he knew of a guy who was selling a bass guitar, cheap. He said it would need a little work but maybe I could learn to play that instead. Though my parents hadn’t encouraged me in the pursuit of my dreams, my friend showed that he believed in me, and that sometimes we may need to pivot.
I took up the bass and, though I was not very good at it, enjoyed learning to play music with him, and ended up playing in bands for many years after.
Years later, one of my customers asked if he could trade some of his music equipment for some graphic design work I was doing for him. I agreed and ended up with a Kurzweil 88 Stage Piano, amongst a handful of other pieces. I futzed around with it a little, over the years, but never had the heart to give piano my full attention. I look at it, now, sitting in my basement office, with a mixture of sadness, reverence, and fear that I would not be good at it anyway.
In my senior year, I was easily and handily beating the fastest guy on our high school swim team. This was the kid who was setting school records all across our district.
The coach pulled me aside, after class, and told me he wanted me to join the team. I jumped at the opportunity.
“But, you will have to cut your hair.”
I told him that my hair was important to me and that I could cover it with a swimmers cap, like the girls use. He remained firm, telling me that it was a matter of maintaining the school’s image.
I assured him that I did not smoke, drink, or do drugs. I told him that, in no uncertain terms, I would work hard to make my school proud. He looked me straight in the eye and told me to come back when I’d cut my hair.
Basically, I was told that my abilities were wanted but I wasn’t. I had to conform in order to make myself acceptable. I declined his offer because if he didn’t believe in me enough to accept me as I am, he didn’t deserve me. His name now adorns the front of the building containing the pool.
It seems that my lack of follow through, in many areas of my creative life, is because I don’t truly believe in myself. Even when people tell me that I have talent in a certain area, I find it hard to believe them. I usually chalk it up to their wanting to be kind, in that moment.
Don’t get me wrong, I definitely appreciate compliments and encouragement from those around me. It’s just that after the moment is over, I return to my default programming; believing that what I do is not good enough or, worse yet, inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.
Everyone needs to know that what they do matters and that they are accepted for who they are, not what others want them to be.
I have found that it takes thousands of meaningful, heartfelt compliments to even make a dent in a negative self-perception.
…unless, that is, we can look back to the source and adjust our perception of past events.
My parents didn’t support me in creative pursuits. However, my English teachers saw something special in my writing. My piano teacher saw my love for the piano and how it affected my ability to learn.
…and, though the high school swim coach turned me away based on perception alone, he could not, and did not, deny my abilities.
It is painfully obvious that I need to stop listening to the people who didn’t believe in me, as a kid, and take to heart the encouragement I am receiving now, as an adult. Maybe, for once, it is time to fully believe in myself, step out of the past and into MY future.
Thanks to all my friends who have encouraged me over the years. It really does matter to me and I will endeavor to focus on your voices, as opposed to those who, in my youth, could not see what I was capable of, because they could not see what is possible if you accept someone for who they are, then encourage and support them and their dreams.
You may never realize the impact a kind word of support can have on someone else’s life.
…but don’t let that stop you.
~ elr
Image: © E.L. Redwine