Seriously, I don't know about other writers out there (as I've realized other English Majors like myself have similar tendencies) but every now and then I have some topic on the brain that won't leave me alone until I write about it. It could be something sad, like my dream about my friend Daniel, or it could be some as random as what I am about to show you.
Meet Seymour the Seal. Seymour, this is everyone. Everyone, this is Seymour. Whilst going through a plastic tub of stuffed animals I saw him peaking out and yelled "Seymour! I haven't seen you in AGES!" I got him from the Brookfield Zoo in middle school, at that age where children start to act more like teens but with some childish tendencies thrown in. Mine was stuffed animals.
Well....it still is. I can't say no to a cute stuffed animal. (shhhhh....don't tell!)
My family (which consisted of le parents, sister Katie, and Poppo) had spent the majority of the day wandering around the Zoo, looking at animals (Katie), imitating the animals (Me), or trying to locate various sites such as a restroom or juice stand (Momma). My parents wisely chose to go to the gift shop after Katie and I were tuckered out, since that meant we were less likely to ponder over everything in the store. We were more than likely wanting to take a nap in the car instead of begging for everything we thought was "needed" from the gift shop.
Did this mean my parents got away without buying me anything? Nope. I probably meandered around the fluffy items while Katie looked at the artistic gifts (like painting a mask or something like that). All I can remember is seeing this pile of stark white seals with plastic whiskers staring at me from across the room. I went over to the pile and noticed that this one seal didn't have straight whiskers like the others. His were a little askew and some were curved. He was a little weird, but I guess I thought it gave him character. Next thing my mother knows, I'm running up to her yelling "Momma! A seal!! I could name him Seymour!!" I slept all the way home cuddling the newly bought "Seymour".
Turns out the name Seymour means "Marshy land near the sea." So I guess you could say, water-wise, the name kind of fit. Seymour was my sleeping buddy for the years when I had to let go of my Barbie's and embrace girl talk. He listened to all my thoughts on subjects such as:
-Teasing:
With an third-grade teacher for a mother, I never dealt with much in the way of teasing. Probably because most kids thought my mother could bring down the whole school system if they tried. This isn't to say I was never teased in elementary school, but more that it was a slight annoyance once in a while, or a passing comment that never panned out. So imagine my surprise when, upon reaching middle school, all the barriers lifted to reveal mean-spirited, judgmental, conniving twelve year old's. At night, I would whisper the most annoying comments or harassments that had occurred during the day. "I can't help it that my pants aren't long enough" or "So-and-so said I shouldn't wear shirts like that, cuz they aren't girly." My favorite though, hilarious-wise, was "They said I should cut my hair, that having long hair isn't cool." Didn't matter that an extremely popular girl kept her hair long. Nope.
-Puberty
I like to say that my family seems to know things. For example, my Christmas gifts in 5th grade consisted of games, dolls, the usual updates to my wardrobe, books, and various other toys. 6th grade on the other hand consisted of books, the usual updates to my wardrobe, more clothes, make-up kits, and jewelry. My parents still got me some "childish" gifts, but the rest of my family was all "Whoa, smell that? I smell puberty!" I had to deal with the uncomfortable new sensations of having to use deodorant, wearing training bras, and my female peers wanting to discuss boys. BOYS. What was this new world? Why couldn't I stay flat-chested, stink-less, and naive longer? Say, the rest of my life?
When I wanted to rage about the aspects of my life I couldn't control I'd grab Seymour and rant. Usually the things I told him were the thoughts that I kept even from my mother, as I was starting the stage in my life where I blushed at any topic involving my body that wasn't medical. After one talk with my mother about "that time of the month" where I blushed the whole time, she never brought up the subject unless needed.
-Girly.....things.
As previously stated, I had a hard time being a girl in middle school. I was in my tomboy phase. I loathed skirts, (mostly due to hose/tights. Wearing skirts=hose/tights.) constantly had grass stains on my knees, and the only time I ever looked put together was in the morning and on holidays. So all of a sudden, my fellow friends were gushing over make-up they sneaked in to school and I was trying my hardest to understand the obsession. I mean, as I told Seymour, I liked to put on eyeshadow when I went to church or if I was going to a wedding or something like that. But everyday? That was what my momma did and she had a reason! She had a job!
Boys were a topic I studiously ignored. The only boys I stated as cute were the ones in N*Sync and Backstreet Boys. Boys were my friends, the half of my peers I got along with. My best friend was a boy, which was a constant subject of scrutiny. Except for my closest friends who knew we weren't dating, it seemed as though no one could understand why a boy and a girl would hang out other than to date. While my friends had boyfriends and learned to flirt, I learned how to climb fences and have mock wars using snowballs as grenades.
Eventually I gained a slow acceptance of everything I dealt with. The fact that I whispered thoughts to a stuffed animal wasn't the only reason. I had my family who helped me to understand the changes going on in my life and the support of friends. But there were many times I needed to repeat my feelings or practice what I would say if someone were to tease me. Seymour was perfect for that.
So I gained a backbone, and learned how to defend myself. I accepted that my body was going to change and that some things in life were just not under my control, so why freak out over it? I also accepted that yes, I did have a secret love of skirts and make-up and that boys were suddenly becoming cute in my eyes as well as remaining my friends.
I realized my best friend was pretty adorable in those years. I also realized that recognizing that didn't mean I liked him either.
Seymour listened to it all and he's officially out of storage, ready and waiting to listen again.
