When was the last time you really stood out in a crowd? Are you comfortable in that position, or do you wish you could fade into the woodwork?
Photographers, artists, poets: show us STANDOUT.
Mrs. Mustard always addressed her students formally when taking roll-call.
But when she came to my name, she slurred over the title, using an awkward sort of Ms. long before Ms. was politically correct. It was subtle; other students may not have noticed, but I did. She was uncomfortable, I suppose, having a Mrs. in her class of high-school seniors.
I was seventeen. I only needed three credits to graduate. So, after my baby was born I registered, mid-year at the nearest high-school, eager to finish up and get that diploma.
I knew nobody at that high-school and nobody noticed me.
Until Mrs. Mustard singled me out.
After a couple of weeks of awkward roll-call moments, Mrs. Mustard could stand it no more. She came out and asked, when she came to my name on the roster, “Do you want to be called Miss or Mrs?”
The entire class turned and looked at me. You could see it in their faces. She’s married?! I had been noticed.
I remember turning red, wanting to vanish. Why couldn’t she just call me Susan? I wasn’t ashamed that I was married or that I had a baby. I was humiliated to have it pointed out to the class that I was an anomaly.
Mrs. Mustard meant to be respectful by addressing us formally. She probably didn’t realize what she’d done by spotlighting me like that, but it was the last straw. I quit school. Instead of a high-school diploma, I took a test and received a General Education Diploma. It was quick and painless.