"at seventeen..."

"And those of us
with average faces,
lacking in the social graces;
desperately remained at home..."

My friend, Kathy, posted this gorgeous photo of a single peony [credit: Lynn Price] and it immediately took me back to being seventeen, and Janis Ian's 1970's anthem   "At Seventeen."  I would sing it to myself and hold back the tears.  At seventeen, I was very short, socially awkward, lonely, and desperate for friendship.

Our family of ten - two parents and eight children - lived in a 1,000 square foot carriage house on a large rural estate. The closest village was about two miles away and housed about 100 families at the most. I didn't make friends easily. That was my younger sister's job. I rode the school bus. Worked hard in school. Came home and did chores and homework. Baby sat my siblings, went to Sunday School, served on our Adventure Unlimited Teen Council board, and helped out at a horse farm across the street. That was my life.

If I didn't meet you on the school bus, it was unlikely you would have noticed me in the halls. I spent my lunch hours in the library -- is there any more frightening place for a "new girl" than the cafeteria, or in a gym class lineup, waiting to be chosen for a team sport.  I kept my head down and my back straight. It was unlikely that I would have had any friends at all, if it hadn't been for my popular younger sister.

Then one day, while sitting on the bus waiting for everyone who always arrived late -- as they boarded laughing and chatting with their friends -- a senior from our little town came up and sat down next to me. Her name was Patricia White. She was popular and pretty. She asked me questions about myself until we reached her stop. When she got off the bus, she said, "Save me a seat tomorrow." I was stunned. That one conversation changed everything for me.

No, it didn't' suddenly make me more confident or popular, but it no longer mattered quite as much - I had a friend. At first, when we saw each other in the halls at school, I'd look away.  I was certain that she was only being nice to me on the bus - pitying the new girl. But each time, she would call out my name and make eye contact. It meant the world to me.

Soon it was time for her prom and graduation. I was so grateful for the kindness she had shown me that year. It had lifted me out of a despair so deep I don't know if I'd have been able to sustain my fragile normalcy for long without her.

I wanted to say "thank you" to her, but I just didn't know if I had the right words - or if they would really mean anything to such a well-liked and popular girl.

Then one morning, while walking to the school bus, my hand trailed along the hedge row of peony bushes, in bloom, that lined our flagstone walkway. The fragrance was so lovely. It reminded me of Patty and the soft blush of her cheeks when she was happy, or as she climbed the steps of the school bus in the afternoon -- excited to share an anecdote from her day.

The night before graduation I went into the garden and cut a beautiful fist-sized peony blossom that was only beginning to unfurl. I took it into the kitchen and wrapped the stem in a wet paper towel and then tin-foil. I tried to make it as professional looking as I could. Then I found a hair ribbon and wrapped that around the tin-foil and tied a simple bow.

I walked the mile and a half to her house and presented her with my "corsage" for her graduation. I didn't say very much. Words just didn't come. But she knew. The next day after the graduation ceremony, Patty was wearing the large, floppy corsage I had given her. It looked heavy, and pulled at the fabric of her dress. But she wore it anyway.

I knew that my homemade corsage was awkward -- like me. But she loved it. And it made me feel beautiful to know that she cared more about our friendship than the drape of her dress. She had made seventeen feel like a prelude to something wondrous and beautiful -- rather than just another year of being the new girl.

There is not much more to this story. Patty passed away soon after graduation in a tragic accident. I learned at her memorial service that from the time she was a girl, she had made others feel just as loved, seen, and heard as she had made me feel that year. I have never forgotten how one person can turn the tide of things, from social hell to a little piece of heaven on earth. The scent of peonies will always remind me of her kindness.




offered with Love,

Kate

Here is a lovely video of Janis Ian talking about her song   "At Seventeen."  decades later.