Misunderstood

The other item was on a bookshelf. It was a tiny wagon about the size of my fist. It was made of wood and looked like it might have been an antique toy. It was piled high with pebbles. Several other pebbles lay about the wagon wheels.
I pointed to it. "You collecting stones, or what?"
"It's my happy wagon," she said. "Actually, it could just as well be called an unhappy wagon, but I prefer happy."
"So, what's it all about?"
"It's about how I feel. When something makes me happy, I put a pebble in the wagon. If I'm unhappy, I take a pebble out. There are twenty pebbles in all."
...
"How close to empty did the wagon ever get?" I said.
"Oh..." She turned her face to the ceiling, closed her eyes. "Once, down to three."
I was shocked. "Really? You?"
She stared. "Why not me?"
"You don't seem the type."
"What type is that?"
"I don't know..." I groped for the right words.
"The three-pebble type?" she offered.

Stargirl is the type of character that I believe we all are within ourselves. Some of us are just sprinkled with this sort of stardust, some of us are as dusty as the desert. The story setting begins in an ordinary school with ordinary students. Plain Janes and Joes. They're not boring or anything, but they are characters each one of us may identify with. Stargirl's reputation preceded her actual appearance in the novel -- she is someone who is eccentrically delightful, someone who could not be linked to any one person that I know, but that we all can see just parts of her within ourselves.

One of Stargirl's problems is not with her, but how others perceived her. Her intentions are misunderstood by the students around her who don't quite know what to do with her ukulele-played birthday songs, her cheering for the other team, her attendance at a funeral of someone she doesn't really know, her lack of concern for what others think. She's for everyone and yet she's for no one. She's this wonderful person that everyone hated. She was stoned with her own happy pebbles.

I don't think I'm Stargirl, but on Friday and all through the weekend, I feel hated despite trying to have good intentions. I would've taken two pebbles out of my wagon.

On Friday, what I had thought was advocating for one of my students turned into an offensive comment toward my colleague's professionalism. She felt that I undermined her ability to provide a safe environment for our students. In my eyes, I was merely trying to inform her why my student might have a "freak out" in her classroom. He was scared by the content she showed him in class on Friday, so I went to talk to her about it. That's when I felt that my words were misconstrued. I never intended to pass judgment on her teaching; I only wanted to look out for ways to change the environment so that my student would feel safe. She demanded to know why, if he was so scared, did he continue to stay in the classroom? Why didn't he say anything or ask to leave? I tried to tell her that the nature of the beast we call Autism prevents him from being able to express himself properly and that teachers must look out for their students, learn to initiate for them some of the things they couldn't themselves. She said she couldn't change the content just for him. I said she didn't have to. She said I offended her. I apologized for coming across that way. She said, "But you did." Those words stung like a slap to my face. I cried that afternoon. That's one pebble out.

Why I cried, I wasn't sure. When I know someone hates me, I hate myself. I doubt what I can do and what I can be. To make things worse, I came home to an empty house because my husband was on a business trip. I called local friends to see if they wanted to have pizza and watch a movie with me. They were all busy. I thought of calling friends and family in Vancouver/Richmond on the phone, but I was afraid I'd burst into tears and be a burden on them. I called out to God, but the response was more silent than a rock underwater. I was so lonely. That was pebble #2 out.

Things started to look up. I put on some music and danced in my kitchen to "4 in the Morning," "Life is a Highway," and "Lady Marmalade." I took a bubble bath and soaked until the water turned cold. I shaved my legs; now they are as smooth as silk. I ate five Ferrero Rochers.

On Saturday, I dusted and vacuumed the house. I watched Benchwarmers. My husband came home. We had pasta for dinner at a Greek and Roman restaurant, which I have never been to before.

And now Sunday. The climax of worship. God isn't so silent after all.

Tomorrow is another day. Though I am a bit nervous at meeting with my co-workers, fearing that anything I say will now be offensive, I have vowed to return any hostility with kindness. I will continue to say hi to others, yes, even to her. I will turn the other cheek, so to speak.

I hope I will never become the three-pebble type.

"In our minds, we tried to pin her to a corkboard like a butterfly, but the pin merely went through and away she flew."

(Thank you, CT, for recommending this book to me.)