I didn’t have the easiest time in high school. Oh sure, I did fine with the academic side. I wasn’t a brilliant student by any means, but I did well enough to make it apparent that I was at least trying. No, for me, the painful part was socializing. I have never been very good with people, I never seem to know what to say. I fall into the group of social misfits.
While I managed to get by most of the time, I absolutely dreaded group work. Partner work was tolerable when we were paired up, but when we had to pick our own partners, well, that was another story.
So imagine my horror when, earlier today, I had to deliver a package to a fifth grade teacher, and just as I rounded the corner into her classroom, she said the three little words I feared the most:
“Pick a partner.”
And there in her doorway, my heart froze in my chest and the lump in my throat was so large I almost couldn’t breathe. For a split second, I was in high school all over again. I quickly reminded myself that she wasn’t talking to me, but I still couldn’t leave her room quite quick enough.
16 years after graduation, those three little words still haunt me. I used to think I had outgrown that silliness, but apparently those fears are so deep down, they will always be a part of me.
I guess there are some things that don’t get better with age…