Children

For the Price of a Grape

by Erin Gordon
10/13/16
Not For Sale

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             “Did you throw the grape at the boys?” I looked down red-faced at a pebble on the asphalt and nodded my head dismally. “At our school, we don’t throw food during lunch. You’re new here, so you might not know the rules.” The teacher, whom I later knew as Mrs. Gewirtz, wasn’t unkind, but I couldn’t even look at her. I was so mortified. It was my first day at this school and I was getting in trouble. I had never gotten in trouble at school before. The girls sitting around me giggled quietly. I felt tears stinging my eyes. All I wanted was to fit in, to be liked. What would the cost be?

                I had started my 6^th grade year at Valley Christian School. It was a small school, in the beginning stages of some significant upheaval and scandals, which I didn’t understand until several years later. What I did know was that my classmates thought I was a good target for teasing, and my teacher did not seem to disagree with them. I went along with it good naturedly because I wanted to feel like I belonged, like I fitted in, like I was liked. Even being a target of teasing can give you an identity—even if it is a hurtful one.

                Walking back to me seat in my stuffy classroom, I was suddenly interrupted by a foot purposely thrust out into the aisle. I stumbled. Unable to catch myself, I fell, face first, on the scratchy carpet. Laughter erupted in the room, including the teacher’s. I felt like crying, out of embarrassment. Instead, I got up, straightened out my dress, dusted paper fragments and pencil dust off my tights, and forced myself to laugh along with them. I even tried to convince myself that it was done in good fun. However, when I relayed the story to my parents, they weren’t convinced. Little things like this had happened too many times. Too many little things can become a big thing. They started looking for a new school.

                So there I was, my first day as a prospective student at St. John’s Lutheran School, throwing a grape. I did it because they asked me to do it—the group of giggling girls I was sitting with.

                “Erin, come sit with us.” I dutifully followed Katie, my assigned buddy. I didn’t know her, but apparently our moms knew each other and we had done gymnastics together when we were toddlers. She was tall, much taller than I was, and had short, bouncy, blonde hair. Her best friend was also Katie. This Katie was also tall, but had brown straight hair. They both smiled and laughed and talked, a lot. I watched them silently in awe. They seemed so confident. They were athletic, pretty, and popular. I was short, on the chubby side, and wore unfashionable clothes. I was also very shy. The only thing I really had in my favor, or so I thought, was that I was smart.

                I sat down cross legged on the asphalt with the two Katie’s and their friends. I listened to them giggle and laugh and felt painfully awkward. I smiled occasionally and silently ate my lunch. They talked about basketball, clothes, and boys. That was when they turned to me. “Do you think any of the boys are cute?”

                I reddened. “I don’t know.” Honestly, I hadn’t even given any thought to it. I had been much more concerned about showing how smart I was to the teacher, rather than who else was sitting in the class.

                “I think Andy is cute. He has dimples,” giggled one girl.

                “Steve is cuter. He’s amazing at basketball team.”

                “Shh, they’re sitting right over there. They might here us.”

                A group of boys sat a few yards away on the sidewalk next to a classroom door. They were looking in our direction. Without knowing why, I blushed. One of the boys flicked a raisin in our direction. It landed on the asphalt right in front of me. Katie immediately took charge.  “Throw something back at them.” I hesitated. “It’s ok, you won’t get in trouble. Just throw it. Get them back.”

                I looked at her confident smiling face. I didn’t want to throw the grape. Everything in me said not to. I knew I shouldn’t do it, but what would they think of me if I said no. What would they think of me if I said I was afraid of getting in trouble?  I so badly wanted them to like me. I gulped down my apprehension and obediently picked up one of my grapes with trembling fingers and quickly flung it toward the boy’s camp.

                I was in such a hurry to launch my grape that I failed to notice the teacher turning the corner. Unfortunately, or fortunately, she noticed the grape. I wonder what else she noticed as she gently and kindly spoke to me. Did she notice my shame? Did she notice the giggling girls sitting around me? Did she guess what was really going on? Did she know that I was just on a mission to fit in?

                Thankfully, I was not expelled that day for grape throwing, but I began to realize that fitting in can have a cost. It can come with the cost of losing who we are. It wasn’t really the grape that was the problem. The problem was that I didn’t think I worth a whole lot as a person. I was jealous of the two Katies and their friends. I envied their looks, their athleticism, their clothes, their hair, even their popularity.  I wished I were just like them. I wished I wasn’t me. Throwing a grape and breaking a school rule was a really a very little thing when you think of all the criminal activity in the world. The big thing was that I didn’t really like me and I was willing to hide who I was inside out of a desperate urge to fit in.

                It takes courage to be ourselves. It takes courage to act on what we know to be right. It takes courage to fully be the fearfully and wonderfully unique people that God has made us to be. I am still learning to have that kind of courage:  the courage to not sell my identity as God’s creation for any price, even the price of a grape.