I was a clumsy kid. As a matter of fact, I’m a clumsy adult. The person who falls down in the middle of an empty sidewalk wearing flip flops and carrying nothing more interesting than a small bag I purchased specifically for it’s easy-to-carry-while-carting-around-two-toddlers style. And then attempts to pretend that I didn’t just fall down while all alone, surrounded by nothing more than air, while strolling leisurely on the most innocuous sidewalk in the world. It’s a sad testament to my capability as a grown adult, but at least I’ve managed to never harm another human being in my inability to do anything gracefully.
I grew up in Jersey. We had big hair, wore leggings under everything, and had high tops to coordinate with every sweatshirt-dress we owned. I had at least ten pairs of dangly star earrings in a variety of colors, and wore them proudly with my crimped hair and teased bangs. I was cool. Until I walked into an open locker while staring at Eric Cochrane over my right shoulder. Or fell in PE while jogging as I tried to impress him with my fleet-footed sprinting capability. My parents called me “Gracie”, a supposedly affectionate nickname that served only to remind everyone that I was bound to trip over something.
My school was K-8, the eighth grade graduation being the culmination of all things. It was the pinnacle of the early school years: an event each of us yearned for as we entered into the middle-school wing. We had the pomp, the ceremony. The eighth graders missed class for graduation practice. They got to leave school early…they got pizza for lunch TWICE a week. They were the ultimate. We all wanted to be in eighth grade, so when I reached that pinnacle, I knew great things would come. My eighth grade graduation would be the day, the one where I shined. I was smart-I knew I’d get awards. I’d be stylish, because mom took me shopping for shoes with heels on them. By God, I’d have good hair. No frizz.
The day of The Graduation dawned bright and beautiful, as it can only be on the Jersey shore in June. My parents had made reservations at a rather jazzy little place in Manasquan, and I couldn’t wait to walk down the aisle to the graduation song. I had my new shoes ready, heels and all, and took my time getting my bangs to just the right height to sit perfectly under the square of my graduation cap. I loved the jaunty swing of my tassel; the click of my little heels on the floor. I was wearing makeup. Mascara, and a little lip gloss. I was the shit.
We got to the school, my family took their seats, camera at the ready. They had already put in their order for the VHS of the ceremony. I joined my classmates in the band room, all of us happily chattering in our royal blue graduation robes. My bangs were the perfect height, I noted, looking at the bangs of my classmates.
The chairs for the graduates were set up on the stage of the elementary school gym stage. The kind with the heavy red curtains used for everything from dances to PE class to PTA meetings. My last name starting with an “M”, I was right in the middle of the procession. To get to our seats, we had to walk down the center aisle, turn right at the stage, walking around the band to go up the stairs at the right side. Simple. And interesting to watch, I’m sure, as 90 eighth graders step-tap-step-tapped all the way down the aisle to the beat of “Pomp and Circumstance”.
My turn, finally, and I step-tap-step-tapped my way down the center aisle, smiling for the cameras, my little heels clicking on the floor, my bangs maintaining their perfect height. My tassel swinging perfectly. It was beautiful. My shining moment. I walk down the aisle, around the band, up the steps.
Until, well. The Moment. The moment of all things ridiculous, mortifying, humiliating. I tripped. Up the top step. Shouldn’t have been a big deal, a little stumble that was easily recoverable.
Except. I was wearing heels, for the first time ever. So here’s how it went: I trip up the step, try to recover, step on my robe, slip on my heels, teeter left, over the stage. Off the stage. Onto a band member, slamming my forehead against the edge of the stage on my way down, before landing on the back of my head on the lovely, well-polished, hardwood floor.
I spent my graduation in the ER, being treated for a concussion. Getting stitches over my left ear where I slammed into the trumpet of the terrified fifth grade band member as I fell onto the floor.
Needless to say, my parents have kept their VCR in good repair solely for the purpose of being able to show that particular video. To everyone in the world. If they knew about YouTube, it’d probably be on there too.
16 thoughts on “Gracie Does Pomp & Circumstance by Jess Em”
Your Mom and Dad could have made a fortune on “America’s Funniest Home Videos”. 😉
As A-mum already said, we knew it was coming we just didn’t know how.
Great way to start my day.
And Jess? You’re still the shit.
🙂 I think you should just put it up on YouTube. 😉
Thanks guys. Glad you didn’t have your cuppa at the ready, A-mum. And yes, they bring it out at all major events. Three words: wedding rehearsal dinner. Out of town relatives, the man’s relatives, friends…..it’ll probably be the cinematic highlight of my children’s teen years.
(laughing hysterically cuz i’m a clutz too) I think i might be a distant cousin or something…..(hehehe)
Jess, that’s hysterical!
I’m a bit of a “Gracie” myself, although, I’m much more prone to spilling things at the worse possible time all down the front of me, or even worse, on someone else. 😛
That sounds like a variation on every school- or job-related nightmare I’ve ever had. Well done! I was a bit younger during the highwater mark of high hair and jangly earrings, so I idolized all you big kids when I was young. Seeing something like that might have ruined my faith in things way too early. Great work, Jess Em, it was a real treat to read.
i like the way you described your growing up, the high-tops. It’s good that you can look back at it now with a light heart and we can join you.
Though i’m sure it was mortifying at the time.
i enjoyed reading.
Yeah..me too…I was kinda klutzy in High School and somehow, I pulled off being a cheerleader.
I’d fall off the tops of pyramids all the time. It wasnt until my Senior that I realized I had breasts and not a swollen chest.
Enjoyed the post!
LK: Weirdly enough, I was a cheerleader at the time. Three years. And since I was little, I was the flyer. The one who got tossed in the air. Yeah.
I now have a chip in my tailbone and a bum hip that dislocates of its own accord from those cheerleading days.
I should have known better.
FC & Moe: Maybe we should have our own support group. A chat room for people whose life events are marred by physical idiocy.
Puddlehead: Dude…it was Jersey. They still wear high early and dangly earrings.
Funny! Glad you survived.
Jess Em: True enough! But have they switched to spritzer hairspray instead of Aquanet? You know, for the environment.
Some have switched, I suppose. I’m sure it was difficult, though, to achieve the same height and texture with spritzer rather than aerosol.
I have never read a funnier concussion story in my life.
Glad to have brought some guffaws, evyl!
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