The Land of the Weirdos of the Super Right

“Hi!  How are you?”

“Oh heeey…how are you?”  It was the cringing voice of someone who was annoyed just at acknowledging my existence….Weirdo who walked among them that I was.

Divorced , pixie short hair, only one child, couldn’t make it to cafeteria duty because I worked full-time, I acknowledged my ex husband in public at the parish and was respectful (apparently I’m supposed to hate him forever or re marry him …not going to happen, and oh my…there must be something wrong with me if I couldn’t make the marriage last…,  I posted TED talks on Facebook with intelligent people dropped the f bomb on occasion, I was at a musical event 1-2 times a week, I dined with whom ever I pleased, played music, wore stilettos to the barn, rode horses, mucked stalls, wrote stories, and taught my daughter to be kind to the one kid in the class who everyone disliked…they were best friends.  I was not super wealthy, I scrimp by, and even worse, I didn’t care about money…anyone’s money…. and I find surface dweller conversation annoying as hell.

The Catholic School Moms, who were raised in the land of the weirdos of the super right found me as bizarre as I did them.

Which by the way, The Land of the Weirdos of the Super Right is the title of my next children’s book.

I felt like I was back in high school again around the popular girls.  The ones who always looked pretty, and had the right clothing, and said the right things and thought the right way, and came from the right family.  I felt odd at school and odd in my own family most of the time.  Thank goodness for Grandma who was from oddville like me.  Who told me stories of the other odd ball men and women in my family who made me feel more…at home in my own skin. Thank God for my friends, thank God for theatre, art, music, photography, and writing, and all things creative that kept me from losing my mind.

But here I was, once more…in the Land of the Werido’s of the super right for a few months more, until we moved back to public school next year.  It always made me sad…I felt such a kinship with the Catholic Church…the mystics, the saints, the sister who taught my daughter brought me to tears every time she spoke…then I would walk out into the hallway and was back to what I disliked the most about humans….that some of them were incredibly judgmental.

And it made me sad…because once when I felt like I had to fit into the land of the super right…so I wouldn’t feel so odd, was very judgmental myself.

So I went to a bookstore, got hugged by a words, and started to feel better.  Books are from Oddville like me.



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