I was ten years old, living in Ferrisburgh, Vermont, and absolutely convinced my mother was trying to destroy my social life. She had handed me brown corduroy pants and a blue shirt with a fluorescent butterfly on it. “I’m not wearing that.” My mother didn't look up.
“Put it on." I looked at the ridiculous selection and remember saying, "Nope. No chance in Hell will I wear that clown getup.”. I was serious. As serious as a ten-year-old can be while threatening to march naked down the hill to school because of a butterfly shirt. My mother finally stopped. “Your father is working nonstop. I'm subbing as an English teacher and helping with our special-needs kids after school until the budget allows me to go back full-time, and I'm waitressing at night. I don't have time for this, Fred. Money is tight. You're growing like a weed. Those are clean clothes. Put them on and get down the hill to school.”
I kept arguing. That's when she gave me a lesson I've carried for almost fifty years.
“Learn this,” she said. “Nobody's thinking about you as much as you think they are. And if you can't laugh at yourself, you'll never understand why we all are laughing at you.”
I paused. “You mean laughing WITH me, right? mom? MOM?”I remember Mom stopped, sighed, and chose her words. “Yeah, yeah. If that helps? Whatever gets you out the door.” So I put on the outfit. I walked down the hill to school expecting humiliation. Nothing happened. Nobody laughed. Nobody commented. Nobody cared. I had invented the entire disaster in my head.
Years later, my mother and I were having coffee when I brought that morning up. “You know,” I told her, “that was an incredible lesson you taught me. ”She looked at me. “What lesson?” I reminded her. She thought for a second. “Oh yeah. That was pretty good.” Then I told her that modern parenting experts might not recommend telling a child, “If you can't laugh at yourself, you'll never understand why everybody else is laughing at you.”
She laughed. “I stand by it.” Then she reminded me of something I'd forgotten. Apparently, during the original argument, I had been yelling back up the stairs: “I'M NOT WEARING THIS DAMN OUTFIT! I'LL WALK DOWN THE HILL COMPLETELY NAKED! RIGHT THROUGH THE FRONT DOOR! LET THEM SEE ME! I DON'T CARE!
During our coffee, I asked her, “Why didn't you answer me?" Mom started laughing.“Because I was upstairs laughing too hard.”😂 Then Mom added: “I bet you would have done it.” She probably wasn't wrong. And if I had? I would have been suspended by Mr. Leach, the principal. It wouldn't even have been my first suspension.
And Mom already had the punishment figured out. I'd come home and spend the day weeding her enormous garden in the Vermont heat. There was just one problem with that plan. I loved it. I loved being outside. I loved the dirt. I'd hunt for worms, eat cherry tomatoes straight off the plant, and I'd happily weed the garden all day. Plus, I got to blast my sister's dumb cat with the hose. Mom got her garden weeded. I got a day off from school. Win-win.
Dad got the regional sales manager promotion, Mom went back to teaching fulltime, and I got new clothes!! But every once in a while, I STILL wore that ridiculous butterfly outfit on purpose.
Because Mom had been right. Most of us spend far too much time worrying about what other people think of us. Most of them aren't thinking about us at all. So show up. Do your best. Laugh at yourself when you can. And don't let a fluorescent butterfly shirt convince you that your life is over.
My father eventually gave me another version of the same lesson: "Fred, when it matters, be the red cardinal in a sea of black birds. Don't strive to stand out simply to be seen. Stand out when it matters. Know the difference."
I've experienced enough of life to understand it, and I've blended their lessons into my own personal reminder that I want to share:
Know when to blend in.
Know when to stand out.
But above all?
Don't take yourself quite so damn seriously.