A collage is a unique artistic composition of odd things and pieces brought together. I believe that describes a human being. When babies are born, people start picking their features apart–Mommy’s red hair, Daddy’s blue eyes, Uncle Tom’s nose. The list goes on. As children grow, they adopt habits, mannerisms and philosophies of those they admire.
I still use a pencil and paper to jot down notes when I’m composing blog posts on my computer. In between thoughts, I stick the pencil behind my right ear so it’s easy to find. This habit goes back to my mother teaching me to write when I was five. I had a little-girl crush on Clint, who along with his older brother and father operated the local grocery store. He was a young, single guy who fussed over me and gave me a penny Tootsie Roll when we shopped. He always had a pencil stuck above his ear ready to record my parents’ purchases in his order book.
One of my favorite teachers was Miss Tunison. The tall, blonde with a penchant for red, was beginning her career in our seventh-grade classroom. I dropped the Zaner-Bloser alphabet I’d practiced since third grade and adopted her handwriting style with disjointed letters within words and I’s dotted with circles.
I learned from my older cousin, Doris, that a woman isn’t locked into one persona. During the week, she wore jeans and a cap to sweat alongside her dad and the rest of the neighborhood men threshing oats. After her Saturday night bath, she put on cologne, make-up, a dress and spike heels to dance with some of the same guys at the Grange Hall.
When I’m dressing for the day, I see Mom’s face in the mirror and slide socks over Dad’s toes. In between, I’ve added pieces gleaned from family members, friends, acquaintances and celebrities. I’m a unique, evolving person. To quote e.e. cummings, “The hardest job in the world is to be yourself, while the world tries to make you into somebody else.”
What pieces compose the collage you call self?