Dumb But Honest (Troisième Partie)
A Catholic School student council campaign that changed how I saw the world (Part III)
As we slowrolled into the drop off circle the morning of student council election, my mom threw her own Hail Mary pass. She begged me one last time not to go through with it. My campaign slogan, “Dumb but Honest,” was a wild card, quite possibly a fatal one. Her most influential friends had started weighing with early bird phone calls, warning her that this was a mistake.
Looking back, I know the counter crew had the best of intentions; they wanted to keep me from getting hurt, made fun of, and bullied for my off-brand (Rick-Norman-flavored-anarchist) message. They were trying to protect me. All they wanted was for me to fit in and have an easy life. I don’t blame them.
But in that moment, the tiniest underdeveloped mustard seed of intuition leapt from my gut to my heart: a mini Mexican jumping bean containing a wisdom I didn’t have a lexicon for. The wee “Me-Bean” knocked, and the soft tissue of my soul-pump received. My forever inner influencer born of this small great audacity.
My imitation Doc Martens struck the concrete outside the car. I gathered my blinding patchwork of propaganda, shut the door with a resigned “Sorry, Mom,” and marched into battle.
Of the campaigners, I beat them all to campus. I positioned myself behind the glass entry of the atrium so I’d be the first thing they saw when they walked through the doors.
My box of tags was full, and in zero fashion organized. And to make matters worse I’d been so pissed at the safety pins for shredding my thumbs the night before that I punished them using my best neglect, leaving their venomous latch-legs open. That morning they made it clear they’d be issuing swift revenge on my pointer fingers.
Standing there, in the gaping chasm of the unknown. In the hallway between the cafeteria and Bank street. It felt like I was occupying the space between no longer and not yet. My heart was a throbbing gumball lodged my throat. I could hear it drumming my ears red. Like I was about to go on stage and preach to a stadium of rowdy, high school football players about the surprising benefits of abstinence, wearing only soccer socks.
Apart from piano recitals, where I always forgot my music halfway though, this felt like the scariest thing I’d ever done.
But the minutes passed irreverant of my discomfort. The round gold clock on the wall indicated that life was continuing around me, despite my best efforts.
A wave of students passed while I stood there, a rush of autumn wind through a cane field. Some mirrored my determined smile, as I placed a card in their hand and issued my shpeel:
“Hey good morning! Rosie Pryor, student council representative! Dumb but honest! Vote for me!”
Some looked confused, some gave me the “rock on” sign or dapped me. Friends as well as strangers gasped in horror:
“Oh my GODDDD Rosie, WHYYYYY?!” In their best Paris Hilton and Nicole Ritchie.
Everyone had their own reaction based on their own experiences. And while some of these knocked me back, rattled me, drew sweat beads to my upper lip, or made me second guess this non-conformist leap, I remained somehow steady on my feet. Like the cane reeds. Defying negligent weather. Bending but refusing to break.
At least, not yet.
Stay tuned for Part IV coming soon!!! Click here if you missed parts I,or II!!!
Ok full disclosure, I expected this to be a two piece dinner then done. But now I’ve shifted into a self-imposed game of Monopoly - how many squares can I add to the storyboard and maintain its value? How far can I go without watering it down? Who gets to decide? Don’t you just LOVE sitting in the questionality of things?
I’d love to hear how you relate to this story!
What was the scariest positive thing you did in your teens?!
What’s the earliest memory you have of following your intuition? (Your inner guidance system?)
Did your parents or loved ones ever try to dissuade you?!
Have you ever tried to rock the boat and get knocked off balance?!
Hi Gorgeous,
Thank you for being here. Your readership means everything to me. I hope you know that.
Love Love Love,
Rosie
P.S. If you enjoy these stories, if they have been of service to you or someone you know along their sobriety journey, please consider upgrading your subscription. For just $8 a month, you can help me continue doing what I love most: writing and creating honest content that stirs!!!
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