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I Was A Fraud

How Could She Say That?

By DeEtta MillerPublished 2 years ago 7 min read
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I couldn’t believe she said that aloud! And to my face, no less. It was the wrong place, the wrong time, and said to the wrong young lady.

In the fifties and the early sixties, there was a “norm” by which most society strove to achieve. Why? Because to navigate outside the parameters of what was socially acceptable meant you left yourself open to ridicule, alienation, and shame.

In that era if you were the child of the only neighborhood divorcee’, living in poverty and at the mercy of a violent alcoholic father, you pretty much lived outside the idyllic family dream.

After years of physical and verbal abuse at the hands of the local bullies, my siblings and I retreated to the dark, lonely closets of our house. These safe havens not only afforded us a reprieve from the physical harm subjected by our inebriated father, but also from the frequent beatings and taunts of our cruel peers, living only houses away.

As a grade school student, you have virtually no say as to your lifestyle. As a child, no one spoke to me about the value of self-worth and confidence. Just getting to the next day, was what really mattered in our lives. I was truly at the mercy of the person who put me on the school bus. With very few fiscal resources, and a chaotic homelife, my appearance was textbook un-kept, un-cared for, disheveled and lacking, on a good day. My greatest fashion asset was a safety pin. Without a simple pin, I couldn’t secure clothing worn by all five siblings, and sized for no one in particular.

With the completion of sixth grade, I knew I had only one Summer to re-invent myself or suffer a continuation of all the heartache that was grade school. Middle School, or Junior High as it was called in the sixties, could be a new start if I was creative and diligent with my transformation.

The first step would be to never, ever let any of my friends visit my home. Heaven forbid they see where I lived. I would be exposed as the fraud I was about to become. The house was in as many shambles as our lives. The second step would be to embrace the fashion trends of the other girls in my classes. This would prove to be difficult on a non-existent budget. Initially I used Mother’s clothing to create outfits that easily passed for store bought. With her skill in pattern making, and mine in sewing, we were able to knock out a clique worthy outfit in a night. Eventually I was able to give both Mom, and her wardrove a break. Babysitting jobs brought in a hefty twenty-five cents an hour. If I pinched my pennies, I was able to purchase trendy outfits at the local Salvation Army Thrift Store.

This went on for the entire three years of Junior High School. No one, but no one, knew who I really was. If I had been playing a role in a movie, I would have been Oscar worthy. I was picture perfect middle-class normal.

I created my own brand of confidence. A confidence not un-like an actor who knows their lines and staging perfectly. I had become so convincing, with my tips and expertise on fashion, that even I, was beginning to believe I was never that impoverish, “little waif” the world had labeled years before.

Starting High School brought great excitement and yet an undertow of dread. Not having the funds to buy lunch was easily explained away as wanting to keep my “girlish figure.” As for where I lived, it had been easy to keep my Junior High School friends at bay because they didn’t have their own transportation. But in High School almost all my friends had their own cars. I knew I was making the right choice to not let my peers see my home, after I weakened and let a trusted buddy drive me home from school. The next day he stopped me in the hall and said, in a shocked and appalled tone, “I couldn’t believe YOU lived THERE!” That was the first and the only time till my Senior year.

The last thing you want to hear over the school intercom is your name, and that you are being summoned to the Counselor’s office immediately. So many eyes were on my exit from class, that I felt a curtsy or bow would have been appropriate while leaving my desk.

Upon arriving at the High School Counselor’s office, I was greeted by several students I had known relatively well over the last couple of years. We were seated in a half circle, nervously shrugging at each other. The counselors first words as she entered our space was startling and yet comforting. “Since your all children of poor households on Welfare, you will now get your lunch paid for by the State.” Yes, she actually said “poor households.” Looking around the circle of “poor kids,” I was shocked! These were students I had been trying to keep up with! I never once detected their true struggles, and our shared secret. As the counselor kept speaking about our good fortune and the process to a free meal, her “poor” audience was busy nudging and smiling at each other. We had our own little secret society, and we were all proud to be members together. After a few questions and nervous giggles from the society, we were told to return to our classes.

Still trying to get my bearings, I remained just a few minutes longer than the last student to leave the room. As I rose to my feet, the counselor touched my sleeve and declared while shaking her head, “I couldn’t believe you were one of them.”

After years of perfecting the charade, my first reaction was pure bliss. I had done it! I had fooled everyone, even the experts! The right clothes, the right hair, the right attitude! I had perfected it all!

Then it hit me harder than any fist my father had used on my innocence. She just called me “…one of them!” How dare she!? “One of them!” And the facade came tumbling down around my perfect shoes.

I grew madder and madder! Not because I was found out, but for a darker, sadder reason. She thinks of my new free lunch friends as a repulsive “them.” She had legitimized my reason for hiding who I truly was. I didn’t return to class that day. I had to be alone and decide whether the fraud I was portraying should take her bows and leave the academic stage.

I wish I could tell you I became a noble beast that day and shed my alter-ego in the councilor’s office. I can only use my youth as an excuse. At sixteen, to be excepted by my peers was far more important than being authentic. But that day was, indeed, a turning point for who I would become and what I would judge as valuable. I finished out my High School education, not as who I wanted to be, but who I really was. My free lunch buddies and I only shared discreet smiles and winks in the hall. It was still taboo to be different and it wasn’t my place to expose their reality to the masses. Slowly, I found peace sharing with caring friends my living challenges and how I met my needs, both in my contrived appearance and my counterfeit status.

The rewards for honesty were priceless. By the time I graduated, friends filled my humble home, laughter and acceptance filled my young life. We even shopped at thrift stores together on the weekends and I was jokingly hailed as the Queen of Thrift.

As a grown woman, I have lived my life placing a greater value on things you cannot see or purchase. A person’s journey, past, present, and future builds the foundation for their humanity. I value a person for who they are, not how society says they should be. I have told my children to judge someone as if you are in a darkened room with them and you can only know them by their words. Even my grandchildren can tell you of my life changing day with “them,” and what a gift it was to be included.

My only regret? I’m sorry I didn’t know how lucky I was to be one of “them” sooner…

healing
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About the Creator

DeEtta Miller

Found my "Voice" as a college student of forty-seven. Once a memoir was written, fiction, poetry and non-fiction became my passions.

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