How it feels to be ordinary me

I am ordinary, longing to separate my self from society with a unique trait, quality or skill.  Yearning to find my individual self through this ordinary skin I reluctantly call my own.  Brown hair, brown eyes, chipped nails gnawed at from moments of angst, pale skin, short; me.  

This ordinary feeling first washed over me in the fall of senior kindergarten.  Mr. Hirt announced we would be learning the alphabet.  He told us we would be holding a letter-person party, with each student representing a single letter.  Dressing up as our character as well as bringing a food that started with our letter. We placed our hands into a small brown bag removing one of the 26 letters.  As I reached my stubby little chubby fingers in I wished for a letter that stood out, like Jamie the jay walking J, or Z Zack the zipping zipper, but to my dismay I pulled the letter F; Frannie, with large feet, nothing exiting floating in the middle, no not even the middle, it was ordinary.  I rapped my arms around the blown-up letter person and shoved her into my backpack.  Trudged to the parking lot and slammed the car door over comes with the feeling of being bland.  Not feisty, or fiery, or fantastic or finicky, just F-L-A-T.  As the letter person party arrived my costume only consisted of a purple shirt with red F poorly tapped to the front, a last minute costume.  As I slipped my Dad’s old shoes on, abandoned weeks ago because of the tear in the smooth leather left to me because I was average and ordinary, emphasizing the large f-ing feet I felt common.  As I walked into my classroom and saw all the festive foods I placed my Fruit on the table wishing to be Quincy the quilt or Ramona with her rainbow ribbons. 

I’m sitting on top of a grey stool, splattered with other people’s artistic abilities.  6^th grade art class; self-portrait.  Ms. Hirtzlinger the art teacher snapped a photo of my average looking prepubescent self.  My hair pulled back into a loose ponytail with my chin tucked and eyes avoiding the camera’s flash.  I finally looked up at my teacher with an “I’m not doing this” look.  As we began our project I realized that I was not able to replicate myself on canvas.  As I glanced at my lifeless white tablet, I realized that this assignment was not for me because it was about me.  I began to sketch what I thought the picture looked like, placing the dulled pencil onto the canvas, while watching the grey marks become ambiguous.  As I sketched two life-less eyes I noticed another sketch that was propped up against the grey wall waiting to be evaluated.  I could not understand how this two-dimensional self-portrait could have so many different points of view.  It was my friend Jade’s, and as she waited we began talking about my lack of artistic ability.  She began to erase the marks that I made and drew her own showing me how to change my dead, dreary, dull eyes.  Into ones filled with life, light and excitement.  Then Jade began to mix paints together, changing the ordinary brown that came out of the bottle into a lighter amber.  She gently began to paint every intricate detail in my face, even the color changes in my hair.  Jade had created an extraordinary portrait out of an ordinary person, and I have yet to find this ability.

As I grew older I became more aware of my common self, unconsciously excepting that fact that I lacked an extraordinary ability that would help separate me from society.  My imagination began to dwindle as I realized that I would not become a professional ballerina, or an astronaut.  As I began to uncover the reality of my extremely ordinary manner and unfortunately I have started to accept it.  At times I feel jealous of the talents of others, but I soon remember the opportunities that I was given but never took advantage of.  These opportunities would have made me more than ordinary.  In that moment I did not want to work hard because the benefits did not seem to be in reach.  I was once a gymnast, but I did not want to put the effort in to create a talent that I now wish I had.  I was not born ordinary but I have become common through my life choices. 

At times I feel like I live in a world full of superheroes, using their extraordinary powers to better our society.  Soaring through the sky, stopping trains from falling off a their track, and even climbing a tree to help rescue a cat.  A world needs superheroes to halt destruction, and superheroes need ordinary people to rescue.  A world with only superheroes would take away their super, leaving them as normal, ordinary, and common just like me.  Sometimes I need someone to save me and they need someone to save.  And maybe, just maybe along the lines of life I will find my superpower too.