Posted by: pendrops | July 11, 2006

weird little girl

Scrub-the-Deck

Tonight, I grabbed an old home video out of a storage box and began reminiscing. The video was about 15 years old and had footage of things like my dad and brother Brad playing baseball in the front yard, me trying out for cheerleading, and a Memorial Day cook-out at Gram and P.A.’s.

It didn’t take many scenes from my childhood for me to come to one overwhelming, undeniable conclusion: I am weird. Always have been. That couldn’t be clearer than it is right now, after watching pieces of my life replayed on a dusty VHS.

As an adolescent, I was gangly and awkward, yet extremely coordinated and dexterous. Loud and intense, but shy and insecure. Self-absorbed, obnoxious, ungrateful and horrible at faking how I felt about birthday presents.

Maybe all that stuff is normal for a 12-year-old girl, but I still concede that I was weird. I think it really hit me when I watched the video of me, pushing my little brother away from my birthday cake so he wouldn’t blow out the candles. Then, I proceeded to hold my hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t accidentally breathe on the candles and blow them out. I had a wish to make and if it was jinxed in any way, well then I just wouldn’t get to marry Jordan Knight from New Kids on the Block.

I was weird. I couldn’t stop giggling and glancing back at the camera as my dad taped me and the other girls cheering at the opening Monroe Flyers basketball game. After every cheer, while the other girls primped their hair, bloused their blue wool sweater, or discussed the next cheer, I stared back at the camcorder sitting on my dad’s shoulder and laughed nervously into the lens.

Yes, I was weird. I said whatever came to my mind, without a filter, and made a complete buffoon of myself on several occasions; one being my 12th birthday. The gifts that I didn’t like so much, I set aside with a level of disinterest that makes me want to write apology notes to everyone in my family – cousins included. The gifts I liked, I would stack in another pile and then jump up to go hug whoever had given them to me.

And I’m still weird. I still say and do strange things like that at least a few dozen times a day. They’re just grown-up weird things now.

But maybe weird is a relative term. I mean, who’s to say what is normal. Maybe my weird is someone else’s normal. Maybe I’m being too hard on myself (which is nothing new). Maybe I think and talk too much.

But that’s OK. I’ll be weird. And I’ll do something that I couldn’t have done as a 12-year old entering puberty: I’ll own my weirdness. I’ll own it because I am who God made me to be. And I’ll own it because it’s typically – dare I say, always – the weird people who make our world the brilliant, curious, surprising and glorious place that it is. It’s the weird people who are on just the right side of oddness to do great things. It’s the weird people who have faith enough to make impossible things reality.

Yeah, I’m weird. I giggle at the stuff no one else even notices. I expect above average from myself and the world around me. I exaggerate the extremes on occasion (or more often than not). But it’s OK. I’m inclined to think I was made this way. I figure that someone called Einstein, Martin Luther, and Mother Teresa weird at one point, too. And where would we be without the Theory of Relativity, the 95 Theses, and modern-day mercy.

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Responses

  1. Krista…..what a great website! As usual, you have amazed me with your ability to put your thoughts down on paper. And no, I certainly do not think of you as weird!! But I loved reading your thoughts and the info about songs, and the many other revelations. You’re the best at this and I know God has great plans for you.

    Love you,
    Joan


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