It was when I was just 6 years old that I realized that I had a little bit of a problem. I was sensitive. I was so sensitive and so wanting to be liked by the “right” people that I often found myself doing things for that little bit of whatever one can call it. I got my feelings hurt very easily - especially when someone was cross at me, raised their voice at me to correct me - or didn’t like me for whatever reason. I think the word that was used then was “cry baby” and my mother just translated that into “sensitive” to make it sound almost like a quality and not so much like a fault.

It was in Kindergarten that the big event happened that would change my life forever. This cute little dark haired boy who we will call from this point on Mikey S. - told me that he would give me a shiny quarter if I lifted up my skirt. I had already been reprimanded earlier that day by a teacher who told me not to hang upside down on the jungle gym in a skirt because “good girls don’t do that” - and prior to that humiliating event, had been asked to go steady by a 2nd grader who later turned out to be gay. When I say that the first 2 years of school shaped my life tremendously, please believe me. So Mikey held up a nice shiny quarter and as I was contemplating what I would do (ok, ok - I lifted up my skirt) in walks Mrs. Harden - our teacher. She gasped. Seriously gasped. Sometimes people say “gasp” and they mean some inward surprise reaction that they picked up but I heard my teacher audibly gasp - like “haaaaaaha” and quickly pulled Mikey from the scene of the crime returning to pull me into a corner where she lectured me for the second time that day. Good girls do not show their panties to boys, she told me. What she didn’t say was that I had shown my panties to a boy so I was not “good” anymore. For a second I did think to ask her if good boys offered good girls quarters to see their panties, but I couldn’t think after the label she had bestowed on me. To make matters just that much worse, my father (The Reverend) was called in to school to speak to the teacher about my obvious deviance. It was a good thing that he stopped on by because I needed a ride home after I vomited in the water fountain from the absolute horrible shame I felt. I remember thinking as I got sick that the worst part of the whole ordeal (2nd only to my father having to come hear about his slutty daughter) was that I didn’t even get my quarter!

My father never spoke to me about it. I suppose he figured I had already made myself sick from the shame of the whole ordeal that he would just let it slide - but I never quite got over it and secretly always hated Mikey S for never having gotten so much of a lecture for his part in my defilement. He moved away (thankfully) in 3rd grade so I didn’t have to see him again - but I recently saw him at a wedding. He was pretty cute, actually, but I was not to be fooled twice (shame on me). I walked over to the table that he was seated at and put out my hand.

“I’d like my quarter, please”, I told him.

He laughed while eyeing me up and down - reached into his pocket and handed me a quarter, not even taking into consideration the rate of inflation. I thought that it would seem bigger than it actually was - but it just sat in my hand like some cheap representation of the years of shame I had lived through. I smiled, thanked him, and returned back to my seat across the banquet hall to the accompaniment of laughter. There was no water fountain, no quiet father driving me home, and sadly - no sense of victory in the exercise. For years I had hung on to something that really was insignificant…because I… am a cry baby sensitive.

I’ve tried for the past few years to be assertive. or a little assertive as the case more than likely is. I’ve been in a few bad positions due to my reluctance to practice these types of skills. I realize that there is a part of me that passively lives and when I see that trait in other people it angers me. Even in the most submissive relationships there is a strength in both partners, you know.

There is a situation that I’m going through right now that will soon be over (thankfully) and all I can really say (because really - people will “get it” with out knowing all the juicy boring details, honest) is that what bothers me the most is how I became in this situation a person who was lifting her skirt up for a quarter. Somehow I felt that I had to go along with it - maybe because he was a Professor - an elder - someone who I was dependent on for giving me a grade or whatever. But I did it. I fuckin pulled up my skirt and held my hand out for the quarter…which I never recieved. It’s not the quarter, Mikey S - and Professor. It really isn’t. It’s the fact that I lifted up my skirt - and that somehow I felt that I needed to do what I was told to do and as a result paid the price. In a fantasy being overwhelmed is sexy. But in real life sometimes being overwhelmed just makes me sick.

Thanks for letting me get that off my chest. This too shall pass.

Oh - I guess this would be a P.S. I can see a whole lot of .25 cent tributes coming my way today… there. I ruined the joke… it’s not quite funny enough yet. Well - actually the quarter story is funny now - but the other situation I eluded to isn’t quite funny yet. Remember my sensitivity issues, please. *lol*