What stunned me about the news was so much more personal and complicated than the lobster story itself. The memories that rushed back to me were from twenty five years ago. Strangely enough they involved my first experiences with unfairness, lying, shame, and my interests in strange trivia.
In 1991 I was four years old and my parents took me to Mystic Aquarium in Connecticut. There are only two things I can remember: it poured rain so hard my little shoes got soaking wet and shrank the next day, and I saw a blue lobster in a tank. My dad told me it was a very rare thing to see and I was really impressed by that. I had seen something truly amazing that day.
At this time I was also going to preschool, which I didn't enjoy very much. I didn't speak above a whisper and interacting with the kids was challenging for me. I never really liked the teachers either. Since it was summer, we all spent a lot of time playing outside in the playground in front of the school. Knowing me I probably didn't have any pressing play dates.
Sometimes the teachers had their older daughters or sons help out when they were on summer vacation. Those kids must have been between thirteen and sixteen, but they always seemed like adults to me. I don't remember anyone's names, but one of the teacher's teen daughters was helping that day and she was nice to me. Let's call her Jen and her mother Ms. Sandy.All the teachers were sitting on the stairs leading up to the school, surveying the kids in the playground as they did. Jen was talking to me. I don't know who ignited the conversation but I remember telling her with excitement about my trip to the aquarium and seeing the blue lobster. I was so excited I almost broke from my whisper. Jen was excited too, she seemed engaged with my story. It felt great sharing my interests with someone else. Then we were interrupted. "Laura! Go to time out."
Ms. Sandy pointed across the playground to the picknick tables. Jen and I were both confused. There was a rule that the students weren't allowed to be on the stairs during recess. I was on the second or third step trying to talk with Jen; not horsing around. Jen protested, "But I wanted to hear more about Laura's trip to see the blue lobster!" It didn't matter. I broke a rule, I needed to be punished.
I was lead to the other end of the playground and told to sit at the picnick table and not speak to anyone. Not exactly a challenge for me. Ms. Sandy could have given me a warning; told me to get off the stairs. I definitely didn't notice what I was doing. I was four. I was also well aware of the rule, but more along the lines of "don't go on the stairs because you'll start acting like fool and fall down them." That's understandable. However, Ms. Sandy was trying to make a point. The concept of having rules in order to keep kids safe in this instance was twisted. It was about rules for rules sake. A "no tolerance policy." - a phrase that would become familiar to me in post-Columbine middle school. This day was one of the first times I wrestled with the idea of unfairness; the idea that a rule imposed on me could be flawed.
The other imposing feeling that washed over me was the shame. Shame that I maybe had done something wrong, and that other people would think I did something wrong by seeing me in time out. Another young teacher's aid - let's call her Ashley - came up to the table and asked me if I was sitting at the picknick table because I was in trouble. I shook my head "no" afraid she would ostracize me or punish me more if she knew the truth. It was the first time I lied to a teacher. Ashley sat with me in silence for a while, keeping me company, which was nice. Then she asked me if I just wanted to sit there by myself, and I nodded "yes." Ashley walked away.
Maybe ten minutes later everyone came rushing to the table for lunch. I sat dejected, with my coffee milk* questioning everything in my short life so far. It's the first time I get in trouble at school and it's over seemingly nothing - and while I'm trying to be social for once. I didn't feel guilt for getting in trouble, I felt shame at my situation and betrayal. I knew in my heart this was an over-reaction on Ms. Sandy's part, but I didn't know how to reconcile this quite yet.
Ashley comes over and confronts me gently. "Laura, I heard that you were in time out. Why did you lie to me?" I shrugged my shoulders. I lied out of shame, then the lie came back to haunt me. So many lessons learned on this day!
The issue was dropped, I was released from my time out due to lunch, and we all moved on with our lives. Ten years later the school would turn into a food pantry.
In the thirty minutes or so this all took place, I reflect back and see how it shaped me into who I am today. The "because I said so" mentality of authority figures does not sit well with me. I am a reasonable person who respects rules and assignments in general, but if someone asks me to do something that defies logic, or I have a better way to do it, I'm going to tell you. I don't suffer fools and I don't like people with blind power trips. Of course no one does, but I believe I have a stronger nose and less of a tolerance for people like that. I'm lucky it hasn't gotten me in more trouble in my life.I can see now that the blue lobster represents my love of the strange, and my desire to share that knowledge with others. That has been with me longer than I ever thought. I do it in my artwork and this blog. If you have ever hung out with me, you know that I always have a weird story to interject. Either a fact I read about, or just an odd thing that happened to me - because odd things seem to always happen to me. Or maybe these things stick to me in a way it wouldn't stick with another person (e.g. I have this story about blue lobsters and my first "time out" at school, when someone else might not remember that happening to them at all). Lucky me.
But yes, lucky me. Though I shed some tears writing this - because feelings come back strong and unpredictably - I'm grateful that I can look back at a brush with powerlessness and unfairness, and see how I was becoming myself.
* In this Providence, RI preschool we always had a choice between three milks: regular, chocolate, and strawberry or coffee flavored milk.
**crude blue lobster illustrations by Laura Miner
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