embarrassed, mortified, and slightly flustered
I love words.
And not just because I teach them.
I savor words, enjoying all they have to offer.
My brain has to know the meaning of words I encounter.
Dictionary.com and I are on a first name basis.
Take, for example, "embarrass".
I know what it feels like.
It feels like humiliation.
Except Dictionary.com reports it's more accurately "to cause confusion and shame to", or to "make uncomfortably self-conscious".
I know the feeling.
In 2nd grade at Harrison Elementary, I was placed in an accelerated classroom, mixed in with 3rd graders (bragging slightly intentional).
Yes, I was one smart little chick.
But the peer pressure--oh the pressure to ace everything, enjoy everything, to stand out and be noticed only for the aforementioned things. Even just in 2nd grade.
Enter PE class (something that's possibly under Thesaurus.com's synonym list for "embarrass").
Enter a specific female 2nd grader in new pink glasses and a pair of hand-me-down khaki pants who was ordered to run laps along with the other overly-anxious to please 2nd and 3rd graders.
I felt the rip in the seat of my pants almost instantly.
There was that feeling of extra air down there, the general sensation that something just wasn't quite right.
A brief investigation confirmed my fears.
Embarrassment, by definition.
I completed my lap, never even pausing to run right out the gym door and straight across the hall to the nurse's office.
Sat there embarrassingly under a blanket while her fingers deftly moved the needle and thread.
Fast forward a good number of years later.
My first year teaching, 2006.
My 2-month post-baby body was sporting a highly stretchy brown flowy skirt with a very elastic-y waist band, atop some good ol' spandex (duh).
I subbed for a fellow teacher during my first period prep downstairs in the "dungeon", a part of the building removed from most other classes. Bell rang, students disappeared, time to make the trek upstairs to my own domain.
Heather, the teacher next door, met me in the hallway, and we walked and chatted together....until my feet told my mouth to stop talking.
My feet, adorned in heels, could no longer move correctly.
A quick glance down at them revealed the shocking truth: the stretchy, elastic-y skirt had fallen to my ankles, unbeknownst to me, and I had stepped into and onto it, entangling my heels in the pile of my skirt.
Nothing left but the spandex and my mouth hanging wide open.
Gone was my decency.
"What do I do?"
(Embarrassment often produces confusion and loss of rational thought).
In between giggles, Heather commanded, "Well, pull it up!"
Easier said than done, my friend.
Untangling my heels from my skirt was almost more than my brain could handle at 9:00 am, even after interacting with a classroom of 20 7th graders.
But then, it got worse.
Much worse.
We had stopped to deal with this wardrobe malfunction right outside the art room.
We knew that all the students had gone on ahead of us.
We didn't know that a parent who was also on staff at the school (a MALE parent, mind you), was heading out of the art room that very second.
"Wow, that was more than I thought I'd see at 9:00 in the morning!" he laughed as he turned and walked in the direction I needed to be heading.
A few safety pins later, I was all in tact for the rest of my day.
Embarrassment, by definition, at its finest.
And not just because I teach them.
I savor words, enjoying all they have to offer.
My brain has to know the meaning of words I encounter.
Dictionary.com and I are on a first name basis.
Take, for example, "embarrass".
I know what it feels like.
It feels like humiliation.
Except Dictionary.com reports it's more accurately "to cause confusion and shame to", or to "make uncomfortably self-conscious".
I know the feeling.
In 2nd grade at Harrison Elementary, I was placed in an accelerated classroom, mixed in with 3rd graders (bragging slightly intentional).
Yes, I was one smart little chick.
But the peer pressure--oh the pressure to ace everything, enjoy everything, to stand out and be noticed only for the aforementioned things. Even just in 2nd grade.
Enter PE class (something that's possibly under Thesaurus.com's synonym list for "embarrass").
Enter a specific female 2nd grader in new pink glasses and a pair of hand-me-down khaki pants who was ordered to run laps along with the other overly-anxious to please 2nd and 3rd graders.
I felt the rip in the seat of my pants almost instantly.
There was that feeling of extra air down there, the general sensation that something just wasn't quite right.
A brief investigation confirmed my fears.
Embarrassment, by definition.
I completed my lap, never even pausing to run right out the gym door and straight across the hall to the nurse's office.
Sat there embarrassingly under a blanket while her fingers deftly moved the needle and thread.
Fast forward a good number of years later.
My first year teaching, 2006.
My 2-month post-baby body was sporting a highly stretchy brown flowy skirt with a very elastic-y waist band, atop some good ol' spandex (duh).
I subbed for a fellow teacher during my first period prep downstairs in the "dungeon", a part of the building removed from most other classes. Bell rang, students disappeared, time to make the trek upstairs to my own domain.
Heather, the teacher next door, met me in the hallway, and we walked and chatted together....until my feet told my mouth to stop talking.
My feet, adorned in heels, could no longer move correctly.
A quick glance down at them revealed the shocking truth: the stretchy, elastic-y skirt had fallen to my ankles, unbeknownst to me, and I had stepped into and onto it, entangling my heels in the pile of my skirt.
Nothing left but the spandex and my mouth hanging wide open.
Gone was my decency.
"What do I do?"
(Embarrassment often produces confusion and loss of rational thought).
In between giggles, Heather commanded, "Well, pull it up!"
Easier said than done, my friend.
Untangling my heels from my skirt was almost more than my brain could handle at 9:00 am, even after interacting with a classroom of 20 7th graders.
But then, it got worse.
Much worse.
We had stopped to deal with this wardrobe malfunction right outside the art room.
We knew that all the students had gone on ahead of us.
We didn't know that a parent who was also on staff at the school (a MALE parent, mind you), was heading out of the art room that very second.
"Wow, that was more than I thought I'd see at 9:00 in the morning!" he laughed as he turned and walked in the direction I needed to be heading.
A few safety pins later, I was all in tact for the rest of my day.
Embarrassment, by definition, at its finest.
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