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Fittin' In
From this decade on the backside of "mid-life," the rear-view mirror
perspective of life reveals much more than was visible through the
windshield. I am appalled at how many times I tried in vain to fit in,
to be popular, to be like everyone else, as if that determined success.
The West Texas town of Crane, population 3,500 in a boom-year census, provided
ample opportunities for fittin' in, or at least tryin' to fit in. Take
elementary school, for instance. Nixon and Kennedy were campaigning for
the 1960 election. My parents were Nixon fans, but on the playground
Kennedy was way more popular, so guess whom I sided with? We voted by
clambering on long wooden see-saws, one end dog-piled with Kennedy fans
(and wanna-be followers like me), and a few brave
stick-to-their-convictions Nixon fans stranded high in the air on the
see-saw's opposite end, proudly holding onto the smoothly curved metal
handle.
And then there was the little candy store where we were
allowed to shop after lunch. If I snuck home with a friend and ate lunch
at her house, then I could spend all thirty cents of my lunch money on
candy. I could get chewy, square, yellow Banana Kits for a nickel--five
per package! Or a big, flat, waxed-paper-wrapped piece of striped taffy,
longer than my arm, was only a dime. I fit in with lots of so-called
friends by sharing that candy.
By junior high age, playgrounds
changed to volleyball courts. We stood in a line waiting to play, and
whoever made a mistake left the court, went to the end of the line, and
was replaced by the person at the front of the line. How did I try to
fit in and win friends? By letting the eighth graders cut in line in
front of me.
In high school we could get our driver's licenses at
age fourteen, and the best way to fit in was to "drag Main": drive south
three-fourths of a mile through the whole town, occasionally stopping at
the one red light, turn around in the church parking lot, drive north
three-fourths of a mile, turn around, drive south three-fourths of a
mile, turn around, drive north three-fourths of a mile. The routine did
occasionally include a one-block detour to the Dairy Mart. Time was not
measured by the number of times one drug main but by how many times Bill
Greg waved or honked, or if John Ed had noticed yet who was in the car
next to him at the red light.
For some girls popularity was
measured by the number of hickeys on their necks at Monday morning
marching-band practice. I never really tried fittin' into that
competition.
Graduation spewed us to various parts, the majority
within Texas's boundaries. I attended college in Missouri, where I met
my future husband. After getting married we moved to Houston. Quite a
switch from Crane! I had never locked a door or a car door in the first
eighteen years of my life. My poor husband reminded me a thousand times
to lock the doors.
Although city life and its conveniences grew
on me, I learned that individuality and true consideration for others
had a heckuva lot more to do with success than fittin' in. Eventually, I
learned who I am, and I learned to be proud of that person.
We
now live in Dallas, and I'm fittin' in just fine. Occasionally, though,
when I feel Dallas fittin' just a little too tightly, I'll climb onto
the roof or drive out toward Fort Worth to catch a panoramic sunset. And
I am reminded of Crane, and of wide-open West Texas, and the reality
that life is not about fittin' in. It's about being. It's about being
who God made me to be. It's about being free. And I stretch out my arms
as wide as the horizon and breathe in that wholesome Texas air. And I am
thankful.
Marinell Turnage
Dallas, Texas
Published:
November 14,
2005
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