That nickel

When I was growing up, I lived around mostly white people. That's okay. I had some of the most awesome friends in the universe. We stuck together so close. I truly felt loved and with a band of brothers. We shared everything together. We ran through sprinklers in our bare feet, played hide and seek, shared our packed lunches, traded clothes and whatever else, whenever else.

When I was in middle school things began to change for me on the inside. In appearance, I was what you would call a lanky size zero, combed down baby hair edges, with a lighting bolt smile. Even with this, I went through a period of serious lack of confidence that lasted for longer than I want to remember, but at least through middle-school.

I have never enjoyed a season of learning without earning near-perfect As. So learning was not my problem. What was, had more to do with inside stuff. I was extremely popular but without true feeling connections. I mean I had this extremely close-knit group of girlfriends where nearly all of them had boyfriends. I did not, not really. As one of only a couple of black kids in my class, the flirty, infatuation period mostly eluded me. As a cheerleader, I had long black shiny hair, flawless mocha skin, chicken bone bowed legs. I dressed really nice and modern. My only problem as I saw it, was the mocha.
 
Every so often, we had cafeteria dance parties at Evergreen Junior High. I never missed a dance unless I was on punishment at home and dared not sneak out of the house. Yes, sometimes I was out at a dance yet supposed to be at home grounded. Thank God Momma worked nights, which allowed me this risk to take on my own. I am not entirely sure it was worth the risk since I never danced. Not with guys that is…. and not because they asked me.

On one occasion, I did something that has shaped my life even today. As I write this, I have this tremendous lump of embarrassment and shame in my throat. Even at the age of 51, it does not take much to bring it back up. In middle school, I paid guys to dance with me, a nickel each song. This was around 1977, a nickel went a lot further than it does today. After word spread that night, I gave out a lot of nickels. During the dance, I felt liberated. At home I cried myself to sleep for the next several nights. What I did to myself was spirit-breaking. And after that, I could not get my footing back. No matter what anyone said nice about me, inside I was the girl who paid others to dance with her.

By high school, I was greatly endowed in the chest area, a family trait on both sides of the tree. Still skinny to the bone, I started getting a new kind of attention.  It would take years for me to put those nickels far enough behind me to allow myself to love me, all of me, for me. Until then, I kept a boyfriend on each arm. A reminder that I was desirable.

It wasn't until I fell in love with me that I let all of that neediness go. Sometimes I still have flashbacks, especially when I see women like my old self. There are a lot of them too.  I have a message for these nickels. The message is this. There are not enough nickels in all of the world that will fill a gap in a soul that has not made up its mind it is worthy.

Love yourself first and hard and truthfully and completely.  Save your nickels for the bank and keep the interest.