Day Eleven

I went to my first PTA meeting today. Do something scary -- check. Don't think that's scary. You try it.

Entering the library to a group of volunteering moms felt much like entering the cafeteria on the first day of high school. The tables were mostly full and as I scanned the room for a seat, I felt the same blank stares as I did when I carried an orange melamine tray. A few uncomfortable smiles, a few shrugs. Finally, I made my way to the only table with remaining seats at the very far end of the library.

It's amazing how a moment can take you back to another time. Here I am over twenty years later and I can still feel like that fourteen year-old with braces and bad hair. (Seriously, bad. It was the eighties in Texas -- home of "Aqua Net"-ed big hair and I have wispy-weight baby fine hair. Not a winning combination). My point of all this is how often do we carry our past into a room ahead of us? How often do I walk in shoes that no longer fit?

Ooh! I snuck that up on you, didn't I? Not fair. I did not give the last call for the reflectives. Oh, well. I'll try to give you heads up, next time. In the mean, beware of PTA meetings and square shaped pizza.