Chameleon on a SeeSaw

To cope with the many labels that are mine I learned to become a chameleon. With my mind trapped between two worlds, two ways of understanding and no way to fit in, I leaned to adapt to my surroundings. Keep the struggle deep inside. Left brain on one side right brain on the other. Creative ups and analytical downs. Mature too soon. Childlike too late. Wisdom rises to the top and naiveté waits to spring up. The planets in my birth chart have formed a cosmic game of Red Rover and the stars hoist the seesaw up and down. My spirit seems to live in the space between the polar opposites of my life. I ride my life like a seesaw and rarely stopping to rest.

My birthplace in my family had me growing up either five years too young or five years to old. Too young to play with my older cousins and too old to be accepted by the littler ones. The pattern continues in marriage. I'm ten years younger than my husband and nine years older than his son. It's hard enough to try to relate to being a wife and I have no idea how to be a stepmother so I just call James, "Geoff's son". There's no role for me in that relationship. No real way to become connected. Now I face the birth of Geoff's son's first child and I have no idea what that makes me. Grandpa's wife is okay. How can I be of any use to a grandchild when I haven't had a child of my own? The way my life is turning out I doubt I will ever know what being a mother is like. So once again, I'm in limbo. Expected to play a role life never prepared me for so I worry rather than act. Act like I'm not worried.

Worry has been a friend of mine for a long time. I grew up in a world of adult worries and now I suffer endlessly with the fears of a child. I've lived my life backward always in the reverse order of my peers. When I speak I sound older than my years but when I feel, I am still the matter of a soft-spoken child hoping that one day they would understand. I became a chameleon changing colours to fit the environment. I preferred to be alone. It takes less energy for me.

In my youngest years I was happy. I was that delightful child who talked to flowers and ground to a halt on the sidewalk so a line of ants could cross. I my kitty cats and longed for more animals. In the summer, I would lie on the front lawn talking to the bugs on trees and worrying that they wouldn't get home in time for supper. I watched the patterns of clouds in the sky dreaming of Bonanza and hoping Little Joe would come sit by my side. I was happy alone. Other people made me worry. Other people made me fret. I could see the things they were hiding but could tell them what I say. I wanted to run.

I remember having one or two friends. Not close friends. It was almost as if I kept them for appearance's sake. Although I did the usual things young girls do, it was like a dream. The child chameleon who blended in with the Barbies and horses and tried to keep up with the other girls. When they went home, I could relax. I could escape into my own world. I could have been the child that predator's are looking for - sitting alone watching the world play by. I sat alone. Blank. Occasionally I'd join a game of Simon Says or Red Light Green Light. Even the dreaded hopscotch but mostly I'd try to be alone. Tried to look happy. Always sang in a pleasant voice.

As the child, chameleon grew boobs and began her monthly blood letting, I began to become more detached from the world outside. My friends could share their teenage angst with one another, rebel against their parents and chase the reluctant boys. I began to get scared of the world. I began to obsess about death. Not the usual after school conversations and certainly not the type of topic that endears one to their social group. There was no after-school-specials that talked about adolescence mental illness. So I embraced the depression and obsessions to coldly comfort me. I faked the moves of my peers as an inky darkness began to envelop me. It was a shadow of worries too many to reveal. So I hid them inside.

At the end of the day, the chameleon sits in the middle of the seasaw. Her butt shifting as grief and gratitude move on the playground of life.