Redheaded Jill

As a kid something I heard a lot was, “You can’t take a joke”. I thought I was overly sensitive, I didn’t like that I couldn’t laugh at myself like my brother could. My older brother is hilarious, he always has been. I was never as funny or clever. And I was sensitive when my brother would poke fun at me.

There was the time I tripped coming out of the car and my mom caught me by my ankle. I vaguely remember that happening. She was holding my little brother at the time, I was probably 4-5. My big brother told everyone, “A man walked by and offered to help. Her skirt was flipped up around her head.” (That wasn’t true as far I recall.) I remember begging my mom not to tell anyone that story. (This was back when house phones were the thing, so you could hear whatever your parents were talking about because they’d be standing in the kitchen with a phone on a cord.)

There was a time when I was 8 and my Uncle challenged me to a foot race. Now, I expected to either win because I was fast or win because adults let you win things as a kid. My uncle took it very seriously, and he beat me. I was so embarrassed. I was so mad. I didn’t like my uncle after that. I didn’t like him for 20+ years after that. We literally “reconciled” at my Grandma’s death bed. (There’s a lot more to that story, but the start was a foot race at age 8.)

When I was 14 the same uncle challenged me to another foot race. Again, I lost. That was in the midst of learning about being overweight, and the embarrassment of losing to an “old man” when I was a teen hurt my pride so much. There was an audience. My cousins saw me lose. My parents saw me lose. And they witnessed my tantrum afterwards. Being in the spotlight became a curse. I didn’t want anyone to see me ever because I would probably embarrass myself. That’s when I decided to not be competitive about sports. I never EVER cared about winning at sports after that moment. Dramatic? Yes, but still true. If I was involved in playing the game I did not let myself care about winning.

At 26 the embarrassment was reenforced when visiting my Grandpa in the hospital my Uncle greeted me by asking if I wanted to race. To him it was a harmless moment of hello. It was probably something he did thinking it was sweet. To me it was, “Wow. These people still see me as the 14 year old kid who lost a race and had a tantrum.”

When I think back and remember interactions with a majority of my family, on both my dad and mom’s side of the family, I am filled with shame and embarrassment. I hate it. I hate it a lot. And thus, I avoid it at all costs.

Don’t mistake me. My reaction is not a healthy one. I do think laughing at oneself is important. I also think embarrassment is part of life and how we grow and it’s nothing to actually be ashamed of. If I ever have kids I hope to model healthy responses for them. To teach them it’s ok to be embarrassed, and it’s ok to laugh at yourself and WITH others. I also hope to talk with them when they are embarrassed and help them overcome it without it causing years of family tension. And when to stand up for yourself and say, “I’ve had enough” because you don’t have to be a pushover either.

You see, even though I knew from the age of 8 that I didn’t like my Uncle because my feelings were hurt, I blamed my dislike on EVERYTHING except what it actually was. I used him as a catch all for any problems within the family. If he did anything at all to upset anyone I directed all my rage at him. He was a metaphorical whipping boy. Things I would forgive in just about anybody I wouldn’t forgive him for. And it’s sad. It’s sad because he isn’t a bad man. It’s sad because I caused a ton of tension in the family, for my mom and her siblings and my grandparents. And it’s sad because it was such a waste of time and energy. Forget forgiving our brother 70×7 or turning the other cheek. I was pure vengeance for years. That’s no way to live.