Navel Gazing, Part I

"We've gone to the hospital to pick up your new baby sister!" read the card on the kitchen table, in a year long before ultrasound machines. My brother Dennis, the oldest at 12, saw it first and read it aloud to Bobby, 9 and David, almost 7. Grandma Eysail clasped her hands together in reverent anticipation as she marshaled the boys together for breakfast. My parents couldn't know what gender I'd be, but the note was boldly confident, leaving me to deliver on their promise. Indeed, I did.

Perhaps if I'd been another brother right from the start the bar would've been set differently; as it happened, being female I'd already met the first goal. To pile on, I was healthy, good-natured, engaging, bright, and cute as a button. I teethed right on schedule, sat up, crawled and even walked a bit early, spoke precociously, carried a tune by age 2 and could sing simple harmonies by 3. Oh, I was everything they ever wanted; so much potential!

By age 5, I'd deduced that Mom could be handled when I played the right cards. Human nature being what it is, without full awareness of the course I was laying in, nonetheless I set about learning the game, and mastered it by age 7. She remained unaware of my manipulating until my teen years, because of course, I was a "delightful child, not a moment's trouble" until then. School was ridiculously simple, leaving me with ample time to perfect my "delightful" image with excellent grades, outstanding musical accomplishments, cooperative attitude and humble faith, though that latter was externally applied. Expectations, expectations... check. Oh, I was a delight, I was; so much potential!

Teen years brought more extraordinary accomplishments, additional responsibilities, a new crop of teachers to impress. Impress them, I did. Why, I was a national treasure to hear them talk. So bright and quick to understand, so kind and humble, so diligent and trustworthy! Ahead of my peers so far as to be nearly peerless! Which socially was more true than I liked, for whether or not you wish it, the one perceived to lead the pack is often subtly ostracized in tacit retaliation. Thus, my teen years were fraught with self-doubt, loneliness, and of course relentless pressure to live up to the grand speculation surrounding: so much potential!

College, then. "No, you can't choose for yourself where to go; college is where you'll meet your mate and we must be certain he's of the right faith."

"Harvard -- though you applied (without our permission) and were accepted -- is DEFINITELY out."

"No, you can't go into physical therapy; no future in it, it's a passing medical fad."

"No, you can't major in music performance, think of the Sabbath problems!"

"Music education would be fine, though. Or elementary education. Or nursing. Perhaps office administration, something suitable for a nice girl."

"Nursing then? Good girl."

Only I hated it. Changed my major to English communication midway sophomore year... parents didn't find out until grades came out at the end of term. That was a fun conversation. Oh, what to do, what to do; so much potential! Given the restrictions, I honestly didn't know what to do. None of my 'options' appealed to me, and though I enjoyed my course of study, it didn't exactly prepare me for an obvious career in anything but teaching.

Enter the career guidance office: "Let's take tests! All sorts! Aptitude, personality, skills... they'll accurately tell us everything you need to know to capitalize on your potential!"

Nevermind that tests are only as accurate as the data you give them; if you're playing to your audience, the data will say whatever you think they want to hear. You may even have convinced yourself by then that what they want to hear is true. After all, they've known you your whole life, haven't they?

"The tests show you may do well on the Law School Admissions Test. Let's see, shall we?"

"WHAT?? You've been recruited by 3 accredited law schools and you haven't even started senior year of undergrad? It's God's will! Of COURSE you must go." Oh, the future is bright for one with so much potential.

Truthfully, I enjoyed law school. Those 3 years were some of the happiest of my life. Free for the first time from the institutional religion which had hemmed my entire life to that point, free from anyone who knew my family, free from being dependent financially upon them, I was free to make new friends without regard to whether my parents knew and liked their parents, free to be less than academically perfect. The subjects were interesting, the students bright and articulate, the professors often quirky but competent, and none of them expected to see you at church on Sabbath. Never have I felt more at home, before or since. The only real problem with law school was graduation, when I went from a promising student to a fully fledged lawyer with a job: it was time at last to realize all that potential.

Do you know that the law firm I worked for didn't give a rat's ass when my boyfriend broke up with me? Skipping class because of a bad day doesn't exist when the billable hour minimum is 160 per month. You know what else? Until you qualify for vacation time, you don't get time off to go home for Christmas if you can't get there and back over the three-day weekend. It doesn't really matter to the firm that you're 1000 miles from family or friend, and totally alone for the holiday. "But, but..." I silently railed, "don't you understand? I'm special! Just ask anyone, I'm full of potential!"