All About the Attitude

When I was in 8th grade, we moved mid-fall from a town of about 10,000 to a very small town on the outskirts of Oklahoma City: Piedmont. Piedmont was one of those small public schools that had about 50 kids per class or so, and most of them had grown up together. They were a close-knit group and, as a result, I wouldn't say they welcomed me with open arms. Meanwhile, I came from Cushing and from a school that I dearly loved, filled with a group of friends whom I adored. I had won a student association office for my 8th grade year, but, of course, once I knew that we were moving? Well, that ended that. But my point is, I felt successful, loved, and accepted.

And then we moved.

My first day at Piedmont felt like a disaster. I didn't know a single face in the crowd and felt isolated, alone. However, band was a raging success.

When I was in the 5th grade, our band instructor came into class and asked if anyone wanted to join. He demonstrated the various instruments and so, I begged Dad, and he finally gave in to my whims and purchased a used flute for me. But he didn't have much confidence that it would be something I pursued.

I proved him wrong.

I loved band. I practiced for hours on the flute and poured my heart into being the best flute player I could be. My dedication paid off, and by the time we moved to Cushing my 6th grade year, I could play relatively well, for my age, of course. Mom taught us girls how to play piano, and so I had a good handle on reading music and such. That was probably the biggest reason for my success as, I really only had to learn how to play the various notes on the flute. The rhythm and reading the music? Well, playing the piano made that a piece of cake.

Anyway, when I attended school on that first day, they happened to be doing try-outs for chairs. First chair is the coveted spot as that means one is the best player in the group. Melody was in the 8th grade as well and Melody had been challenged multiple times by the other flute players in the group, but she was clearly the best and held her spot for the previous two years.

As I was new to band and nobody knew me, I sat in the very last seat after the other 8 flute players. The band instructor's challenge was to play the B flat scale, up and back down. I shrugged to myself. Easy as pie.

But clearly I was the only one who thought so. The other 8 girls struggled and hit wrong notes and couldn't keep the correct rhythm--even poor Melody. So when the band director got to me? I played the entire scale with ease.

"I do believe we have a new first chair!" he proclaimed. And so, I moved from Chair #9 to Chair #1...just like that. Melody was clearly unhappy with my success, and scowled my direction repeatedly. I looked straight ahead. Over the course of the year, Melody challenged me one time but...well, I kept my spot.

We were never friends.

Other than the bright spot of band each day, I struggled socially that year. Being in 8th grade is a piece of work anyway, but when one adds "being the new kid on the block" to the mix...well, it is a whole new level of insecure. After some time, though, I finally managed to get in with a group of girls that begrudgingly accepted me.

One time a neighbor came over to the house and I was in the shed helping Dad change the oil on the pickup. The neighbor asked, "So how do you like school here at Piedmont?"

I scrunched my nose and shook my head. "I don't like it," I quipped. And that was that.

Well, that was that until he left. Dad was none too proud of my response. "I don't care whether you like it or not," he fumed. "That school is part of our neighbor's home and you just told him that it isn't good enough for you. That better never happen again."

It didn't.

One day, after being at Piedmont Middle School for several months, I went to lunch and got in line with these friends. They were all laughing about something and, wanting to be in the know, I said, "What are you girls talking about?"

Susan rolled her eyes. "You always do that," she said. "You always come up in the middle of a conversation and we have to stop talking to get you up to speed." And then she turned away, and the only thing I knew about their conversation was that I was annoying.

Her words never left me. Clearly. Because 35 years later? I still remember them.

I was the outsider and I wanted nothing more than to leave that school and find a place where I belonged.

My mom taught at a small Adventist school--Parkview--in Oklahoma City that had grades 1-10. That summer, in order to escape my social crazy, I chose to switch gears and enrolled at Parkview. I was sad to leave Band behind. The fall of my 9th grade year they were going on a two week tour through Switzerland and, had I stayed, I would have been part of it. But nothing could sway me to stay. I was determined: determined to leave, determined to start fresh, determined to make it work. My attitude was a whole different ball of wax going in to Parkview that first day. My motto?  To have friends, to make it work, to like it, to be likable, to be other centered.

And my attitude? It worked. I made friendships that I still have to this day. I loved my little school and it made all the difference.

But I have wondered so many times, what about if I had brought my attitude of confidence and determination to succeed to Piedmont Middle School? How different would my story be? Because when I started Piedmont, I had the attitude of insecurity, of begrudging the move because I loved my previous school, of being a victim because I was a misfit in a group of friends who had been together since they were 5.

Sometimes life is all about the attitude.

Roy is one of those people who never looks back. I admire that about him. He refuses to "cry over spilt milk", to regret a major decision, to stew. I've learned a lot from him over the years.

Perspective is everything. Change your thoughts? Change your world. One experience at a time.