Women and Friendship : The Day After Parents' Night

Every Woman Has a Story: Many Voices, Many Lessons, Many Lives
by Daryl Ott Underhill

(Page 4 of 4)

Gail M. Hicks

I wore something cute and perky to the fourth-grade parents' night because I wanted to look good, even if I didn't feel that way. All schools make me feel as shy and insecure as when I myself was attending; but most especially does the elementary school that my youngest attends. At the middle school, all the parents are older than me, and I can relax in the knowledge that my hips are a little slimmer than most and my breasts a bit higher. But for the fourth-grade parents' night, I had to wear my cutest little red print mini and my sleeveless chambray weskit, high-heeled slings with no hose, and my biggest silver hoop earrings. I looked good, and, for a while, I was glad I had taken the effort.

I was the first to arrive, even before the teacher, because I am chronically early for everything. "Mrs. Straight, it's so nice to see you," said Mrs. Turly as she unlocked the classroom door. "Just find Erica's name tag, and you can sit at her desk." Parents began to fill the room, and, attempting to be anonymous, I retreated gratefully behind my cute, if binding, outfit. I am sure I was smiling my friendliest smile at everyone who caught my vacant gaze, when, suddenly, I found myself smiling up into a very familiar face. It was Tina Blanding, the cheerleader. For a very long moment, I was terrified, as of old, but when she did not recognize me, I thought, with no small amount of relief, that perhaps I was mistaken. But no, I couldn't be. She was fat and dressed frumpily in an oversized Hawaiian-print camp shirt and khaki pleated shorts, but there was no mistaking that pretty face. And then I remembered how very cute I looked, and the thought crossed my mind that perhaps I could approach the heretofore unapproachable Tina. After all, I thought, we are all adults, and I look so much better than her, she wouldn't have the nerve to snub me.

"Hi, I think I know you," I said. A faint glimmer of recognition showed on her face. "Are you Tina Blanding?"

"Carver High, right?" she replied.

"Yea, and actually, Washington Elementary, too."

"That's right." She smiled. "I thought I recognized you. I'm Tina Rayford now, but, I'm sorry, I don't remember your name."

"Cheryl Straight. Well, used to be McDunough."

"That's right, I do remember you," she said, in a way that made me wonder whether or not I should be happy about that.

Just at that moment, Mrs. Turly began to speak, and we parents took our places at the desks of our respective children. I had done well, I thought. Well enough that I could relax a little and, yes, even be happy that Tina had remembered me, for whatever reason. Perhaps I had finally achieved a level of social status equal to the great Tina Blanding: cheerleader, socialite, popular person.

My feelings of equality, however, were short-lived, for, when I attempted to speak with Tina at the end of the evening, she seemed bothered by the whole affair. She was polite, but then quickly excused herself when I started to suggest that we and our daughters might get together sometime. She very hurriedly said good-bye to Mrs. Turly and left the room. Again, I had been snubbed. How silly of me to think that she and I could be friends. I am a nobody, and she is a somebody, and never the twain shall go shopping together.

I did not think of Tina again until the following spring. I was grateful to my daughter for not befriending Tina's, for this way, I could easily assist Tina in avoiding me altogether - and we had not so much as crossed paths for the past seven months. I kept myself safe and did not place my feelings where their care would not be certain.

But feelings are uncertain and safety illusive. And shortly before school's end, a note came home. There had been a death: a parent of one of the students in my fourth grader's class. After a long struggle with breast cancer, the note said, Mrs. Tina Rayford was dead. The school psychologist would be speaking in each of the three classes affected to guide the children through the grieving process. "Please call the appropriate number for questions or help," it said: something I will always wish I had done the day after parents' night.

Gail believes learning and growing are forever and ongoing, painful and humorous, humiliating and uplifting. "Growing up is hard to do, and just when you think you're finished, you find yourself in need of more growth." She is the single mother of three "wonderful (most of the time) children." She is currently working toward her B.A. in women's studies.

© 1999 by Daryl Ott Underhill

About the Author

Daryl is originally from the San Francisco Bay Area, and from a very early age found people and their stories intriguing. Facing her life each day with the motto that your "attitude is everthing" she wanted to find a way to share this with others, and this is the heart and soul of the book. Her brothers believe it is her tenacity and search for answers that makes her successful and led her to creating the Every Woman projects. Lori, her sister, will tell you Daryl has a unique talent to get people to talk, she asks the right questions, and then she really listens.