Doubt Planters

You know what I hate? Doubt Planters. You know these people -- they slip you subtle insults and prey on your low self esteem. They plant the seedlings of doubt which start to grow into vines of doubt which then wrap themselves around your spine until they eventually swallow it whole. My kindergartener had a run-in with a Doubt Planter the other day. The seed has now been planted; the vine is growing. Here's how the event went:

While getting ready for school, I handed my 5-year-old her blue metallic go-go boots. These are the boots she's been wearing -- with pride -- since the first day of school.

"I don't want to wear my blue boots anymore," she says. "J.J. said they're dumb."

"J.J."? I say, about the little 'tard who I've personally witnessed picking his nose. "Who cares what J.J. thinks."

But there's no talking my daughter out of it. The boots are history.

I try to explain to her how little someone else's opinion matters -- especially that of a booger-picker! I try telling her that J.J. is probably very unhappy, perhaps living in a meth house or in a group home for 'tards. But none of this means anything to her at this fragile age. She only knows one thing: that her boots are dumb.

It hurts me. Why? Because she's mine. But also because it's hitting too close to home. I'm reminded of what I like to call "The Sperry Top-Sider" incident. Let me explain...

When I was in fifth grade, my mom had a really wise idea. Her idea was to put me into modeling school. Teri Shields was certainly making a great living off Brooke, so you can't really blame my mom for trying. She was determined to make it work -- even on our modest budget. She involved my older sister, Julie, which was a recipe for disaster. Julie loved to torture me and this whole modeling gig was great fodder for her plan. It was 1980. Julie was in high school at the time, and I was in fifth grade. Some kids at her school were experimenting with the sailor look. No kids at my school had even thought of the concept and even mentioning it might get your ass kicked. Nevertheless, I was an aspiring model (along with the 30 other kids who paid their dues to the Plaza III Talent Agency) and 'haute couture' needed to become my middle name.

I still remember the day Julie and my mom came home with that sailor suit. It was all one piece -- a "mechanic-meets-yachter" ensemble that remotely resembled something I'd seen once on the cover of Seventeen. I wondered how the kids at my grade school would like it. But, the problem was, I didn't have the right shoes. Neither my wallabes nor my hurachee sandals looked right with these duds. My sister told me about these new shoes she'd seen on the feet of the fashion elite at Sunnyslope High School. Sperry Top-Siders they were called - also known as "boat shoes."

Under my sister's evil infuence, my mom took me to TG&Y. For anyone who remembers TG&Y, it was a dime store. TG&Y. Yellow Front. Pic N Save. Dime stores. And aren't you supposed to get things like toothbrushes and Juicy Fruit at dime stores? Exactly. Lo and behold, they had some Sperry Top Sider knock-offs for a mere fraction of the cost. Of course, they were plastic and made your feet smell like rotten blue cheese, but they were boat shoes nonetheless. So, my evil sister and stardom-seeking mom talked me into it and we got a pair to go with my sailor coveralls.

I checked myself out in the mirror in my full get-up. It was pretty hot. So, I did it. I wore it to school the next day.

The minute I stepped onto campus, the fingers were pointing and the laughter filling the entire campus. I was the effing freak for the day. I got laughed at more than the girl with the greasy fingerprint glasses that took up half of her facial real estate. It hurt. Lots of doubt seeds were planted that day.

What I did still have was the hope of a bright future in modeling. My mom really believed in me. She couldn't afford a professional photographer to do my portfolio, but when you see the pictures below, you'll realize we didn't need one. Our Kodak 110 and my ability to look cute while doing very natural things was all we needed...
These are the infamous sailor coveralls. Note the bare feet. This must have been taken right before our trip to the TG&Y. In this particular shot, I'm showing the modeling agents that not only am I really cute, but I make a great stand-in for a hunting dog. "The dead duck is over there -- where my knee is pointing..."

This is me after sticking a perfect dismount off the pummel horses in our living room. Now, some gymnastics equipment salesmen will tell you that you need the cushy blue mats to land on, but I'm here to tell you that orange shag carpeting works just as well.

Ahhhh. Here's me doing what I loved best on a Friday night -- sitting on the fireplace reading an encyclopedia. Those were great days.

I see a rim of white rubber in this photo -- where the red arrow is. I might be mistaken, but I do believe these are the TG&Y "Ferry Plop-Siders".

If I'm not mistaken, I appear to be wearing a pony-tail holder as a bracelet in this shot. Now I understand why my mom so desparately wanted me to be a model. I guess we were poorer than I originally thought...

This must have been my mom's back-up portfolio. You know -- if I didn't make it as a real model, I could always have a shot at making the cover of Pedophilia Monthly or Amish Designs.

Dammit! You know what I just realized? That could have been ME screaming "what a feelin" in Flashdance if my mom had learned to center her pictures better. Some casting director probably had my shot sitting next to the one of Jennifer Beals. "Well, I do like the little flat-chested one. The only problem is that I can't see the top of her head or her feet. She could be a conehead or have a clubbed foot. The problem is we just don't know. So, go ahead and call up Jen."