Grace and Other Snide Comments

Do you ever feel like your parents have an unparalleled ability to recognize unique, powerful traits within yourself that can define the direction your life takes? This uncanny parental insight is strongly present in my father. When I was less than two years old, he made a bemused observation that has held true with unwavering accuracy throughout every stage of my life. He called me Grace. Still does, actually. And no, it is not meant as a sincere comment on my sylph-like ballerina self. Rather, it was a startled laughing exclamation made as he watching his daughter, calmly standing in front of a glass table, inexplicably lose her balance and fall face first into the edge, driving her teeth into her lip and spurting blood in every direction. “Yep, I think we should have called her Grace.”

So, Yesterday, I stood at the front of a classroom of inner city high school students, finished taking attendance and instructed them to begin work. After which I promptly fell down. Yep. No, I wasn’t walking. No there was absolutely nothing around me or behind me. I just began to turn my body to walk back to the desk, and then fell down. Feet flying straight out from under me, hands flying up and butt hitting the ground first. Hitting the ground hard, I might add.

What does one say at a time like this? I mean-really? Scrambling painfully back to my feet I surveyed the students in various stages of hilarity. Some were openly laughing so hard tears were starting to roll out, while their neighbors were turning purple in an attempt to hold it in by not breathing. Others had their hands clasped firmly over their mouths but were making weird snorting noises. Some chose to just bury their head on their desk, but were betrayed by shaking shoulders. I stood there looking at them, and realized that I, the wordsmith, the blabbermouth, the talk-it-outer, had absolutely nothing to say for this occasion. No words. Eventually I just said, out of concern for the snorters and purple facers, “It’s fine, laugh. Get it out. I would.”

Someone did ask if I was ok and, as I made another attempt to cross the six steps toward the desk (now hobbling) I replied, “Oh sure. Fine. No problem.” After achieving the wincing comfort of the desk chair, I was left with the rest of the class period to brood bitterly upon the incredible aptness of my father’s nickname. Apparently, any fairy who attended my birth had a wicked sense of humor.

After about six months of dating my husband began his current habit of walking a step ahead of me (with his arms out and ready to catch) down every flight of stairs and/or hill and incline. I usually have a bruise, cut or scrape on my body that I have no idea how I obtained, probably because I routinely run into walls, doors, and other inanimate objects.

I avoid using the trunk of our car because I have yet to do so without banging my head, and it took me a VERY long time to ride a bike without training wheels. I buy two sets of the same dishes at once, because I inevitably break so many that I need the entire second set to gradually sub in as replacements. My most notorious achievement in the great and varied realm of clumsiness? At the age of 12 I managed to drop my newborn sister Rose from the crook of my arms to the kitchen floor - headfirst. She’s very nice about it now, but probably because I brain-damaged her so much she doesn’t actually know how to be mean. The list could go on and on. In fact, I think I will give it a separate search tagline in my blog. So keep your eyes peeled for the further adventures of Graceful Letty Goering.