Acceptance: It's Getting Better All the Time...
Article Specs |
Article ID: 3532
Age Group: Adult
Days Up: 6,407
Times Read: 8,641
Author: Agona Darkeagle
Posted: July 6th. 2001
Times Viewed: 8,641
It was Senior Week, the beginning of the end of four long annoying years of high school. Four years of being an out-of-the-broom-closet witch. Our school had rented an activity center for the day and I was spending a lazy hour on the miniature golf course with a few friends. It was picture perfect: the sunshine, the breeze, the companionship . . . and of course, the annoyingly obnoxious group behind us dogging our heels. I raised my golf club for what was supposed to be an easy putt into the hole when . . .
"Hey, what's that star you have mean? Is that a pentacle?"
To be perfectly honest, the friends I was with on the golf course had only been my 'friends' within the past two weeks. Though I've sat at their lunch table all year, it wasn't until the final gasps of senior year that we had grown close enough to consider ourselves friends rather than acquaintances. My friends (though I hate to be stereotypical) all came from perfect families with large houses and a comfy bank account. The majority of them, as with the rest of the town, were Catholics. But the topic of my religion had never come up with them. They knew who I waseveryone did after four years of being out of the broom closet in a small townand they just accepted me for who I was. The type of friends I had spent all of high school to look for and now, and only now, had finally achieved.
So to be quite frank, I was a bit embarrassed that the idiots behind us were choosing now to make a scene. Perhaps it was out of boredom of waiting for us to finish this hole. Or maybe it was because they were drunk. Who knows? I slowly turned around and was at a loss for words, which is a rarity for me.
"Chazz, you've been in my class for six years. You're asking me this NOW?" I responded, hoping I hadn't lost the moment for wittiness. I was also hoping he didn't remember the time in the 7th grade when I elbowed the back of his head after he had been trying to distract my attempt at writing on the chalkboard.
"Chazz, you know she's a Witch, " murmured one of the girls in his group. I liked her that girl; she had always been nice to me. I could never figure out what she saw in him as a boyfriend though.
"Man, Witches aren't real. They're fake, made-up, " interrupted a kid named Shawn, tossing his golf ball in the air. Uh, oh. I could feel my temper rising.
"But, " stuttered Chazz, gesturing at me and lowering voice, "If she's one . . ."
"Fake, " said Shawn again, emphasizing the word. "There's no such thing."
No such thing?! I was standing right there, for gods' sakes! And I had a reputation for having a violent temper coupled with a short fuse (I try, but sometimes I just can't help it). He had to have some nerve to insult me like that! "Shawn, " I growled slowly. I did not like where this was headed. My friends were eyeing me nervously. All right, I could take a hint. They didn't want a big scene. Fine, then. I was graduating in a few days. What did I care? I swung the golf club.
"No such thing, " Shawn repeated again.
Scratch. Missed the ball. It goes flying off into the grass.
I grit my teeth, fetched the ball, and quietly murmured to the score keeper, "Just put me down for six swings and let's move on."
"But that was only your third -- "
"Six swings, " I snapped, stalking to the next hole. That lasted for quite a bit. I had gone from having the second highest score to the second lowest score. Oh, well. It was only miniature golf.
Three days later, we had graduated. That night our school sponsored an all night party where they locked us into the school until five in the morning. I showed up, checked in, took a look at my schedule card and . . .
"Fortune tellers?!" I shrieked.
"What?" asked a friend, seeing my obvious distress.
"I already promised a bunch of people I'd read their cards for them! What was our school thinking, going out and bringing in fortune tellers?!"
I stormed out, found the fortunetellers, and jokingly told them they were trotting on my turf. So they set up a table and let me read cards with them. Well, sort of. I didn't get to be inside the pretty stardust tent. And even though I gave readings to the few people I had promised to earlier, no one else wanted to get read by me. What made me different from the others? What made a witch different from your average fortuneteller? I pushed the hurtful thoughts out of my mind. After all, there were other things to do that night. Lots of things.
You see, my mom had bought me this beautiful (and expensive) crystal rose quartz wand as a graduation gift. And for some reason, I had brought it with me. One of the first people I passed at the part was a cop. I had taken classes at the local police station two years earlier so I knew this cop.
"Look at my graduation gift!" I crowed with delight, showing him my pretty wand. A year ago I had saw him at the carnival and he had asked about my pentacle. He was a pretty devout Catholic and was worried that it was Satanic (and added that he didn't believe that I'd be involved in something like that). I had laughed it off but never fully explained to him my beliefs.
"Very nice, " he commented, gently taking it into his hands and rolling it around with his fingers. "Let me borrow this for a few, " he added jokingly later on. "I can think of a few people I want to use it on!" I laughed and bounded away, wand in hand.
Maybe the Goddess knew that this was the night I wanted to dispel all the misconceptions about me. Who knows? But that's when I ran into two of my classmates, Randy and Ryan. Ryan was actually a bit afraid of me, but I think that had more to do with the time that he was making fun of my Asian name. It was stitched on the sleeve of my cheerleading jacket. I sweetly asked if he wanted a closer look and then proceeded to introduce his face with my flying elbow. I stopped short just close of smashing him in the nose. However, he had leaned back to avoid what he thought was a blow to the face and ended up toppling over backwards along with his desk. The following crash of the desk hitting the chalkboard stopped class for a hilarious few minutes. Randy, however, was just an obnoxious self-proclaimed class clown. After a few mishaps, I thought we had come to an understanding where it was okay for us to rib each other once in a while. Anyway, I bounded up to them and gave them both a hearty tap with my wand.
Ryan recoiled as if I had just lit a can of gasoline. "Did you just hex me again?"
"What?" I responded with a blank smile. I was in too good of a mood to be affected. But then curiosity got the better of me. "'Again'? When did I EVER curse you?"
"Remember the time when Shawna pushed me into you in the hallway and you turned around and gave me the meanest look? And I said, 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, please don't hex me'?"
I gawked in disbelief at him. "You're such an idiot, " I replied with a grin.
"He knows that, " interrupted Randy. "Say, can you hex Dave?"
Yeah! Go hex Dave! Right now! We want to see!"
Dweedle-dee and dweedle-dum proceeded to list a bunch of names of people who they'd like to see me 'hex'. I stared at them for a bit and finally said with exasperation, "Honestly, guys, do you know how much time and energy goes into a real curse? What did you think? I could just wiggle my nose or something?"
They glanced at each other. "Well, yeah."
I smirked and threw my yearbook at them. "Sign that, will yas?"
They signed it with a boyish sense of humor that really touched me. I never thought those two obnoxious idiots could be so sweet. And off I bounded again and . . . screech! Who'd I run into? None other than that jerk Shawn from the mini golf course. "So!" I said loudly, sidestepping Shawn so I blocked his path, "I'm not real, eh?"
"'Not real'?" Shawn stared blankly at me for a second. For a horrifying second, I thought maybe he really had been drunk and just didn't know what he had been saying. "Oh, that!" he realized after a moment. "I was just being a jerk that day."
"Yes, you were, " I agreed quickly.
"I'm sorry, " he apologized sincerely. "I didn't mean to be a jerk."
I swear, my jaw dropped. Of all the things I had expected, an apology was not one of them. I smiled at him. "Thanks." And I bounded off again, happy as could be.
At some point during all of this, I had run into this guy John. John had been in my class for all my six years in this town. He was the really quiet type and I hadn't spoken a word to him until second semester of senior year. That's when he confided in me that his girlfriend had just recently 'converted' to Wicca and I invited them both to an Ostara celebration. He had signed my yearbook but I hadn't bothered to read what he wrote yet. It had been far too busy that night. I vaguely remember writing in his yearbook that I thought it was great how open-minded he was, and what a rarity that is, and how I really regretted not getting to know him earlier. So around this time, I opened my yearbook to see what he had written.
What he had written made my night. I think I must've read it over ten times that night. It said something along the lines of how he admired my self-confidence and wished he could be more like me, especially how I did my own thing and didn't care what others said about me. So he tries to make up for his shyness by being as open-minded as possible and accepting people for who they are.
Me? Self-confident? Not caring what others think?
That really made me take a closer look at that whole night and myself in general. And it made me wonder why I had went out of my way to seek out the people who I had problems with in the past and work out some sort of understanding. And why that reach of understanding made me feel so incredibility and unexplainably happy.
Was it acceptance? Maturity? The fact that it was the end of an era and the beginning of the new? And why did I feel now feel a tidbit ashamed at having balked at my principals of self-assurance?
I came to the conclusion that as long as you are comfortable with who you are, nothing else matters. There are always going to be people who are accepting of you and there are always going to be people who are obnoxious to you. That's just the way the world is and there's no use trying to change it. But in the end, does it really matter?
Location: Hanover, Maryland
Author's Profile: To learn more about Agona Darkeagle - Click HERE
Bio: Agona Darkeagle a Greek Wiccan and a soon-to-be-college-freshmen at a military school. Hoping to major in Criminal Justice, the Libra in Agona reminds everyone out there to judge everything fairly and blessed be!
Other Articles: Agona Darkeagle has posted 4 additional articles- View them?
Other Listings: To view ALL of my listings: Click HERE
Email Agona Darkeagle... (Yes! I have opted to receive invites to Pagan events, groups, and commercial sales)
Web Site Content (including: text - graphics - html - look & feel)
Copyright 1997-2019 The Witches' Voice Inc. All rights reserved
Note: Authors & Artists retain the copyright for their work(s) on this website.
Unauthorized reproduction without prior permission is a violation of copyright laws.
Website structure, evolution and php coding by Fritz Jung on a Macintosh.
Any and all personal political opinions expressed in the public listing sections
(including, but not restricted to, personals, events, groups, shops, Wren’s Nest, etc.)
are solely those of the author(s) and do not reflect the opinion of The Witches’ Voice, Inc.
TWV is a nonprofit, nonpartisan educational organization.
The Witches' Voice carries a 501(c)(3) certificate and a Federal Tax ID.
Mail Us: The Witches' Voice Inc., P.O. Box 341018, Tampa, Florida 33694-1018 U.S.A.
of The World
NOTE: The essay on this page contains the writings and opinions of the listed author(s) and is not necessarily shared or endorsed by the Witches' Voice inc.
The Witches' Voice does not verify or attest to the historical accuracy contained in the content of this essay.
All WitchVox essays contain a valid email address, feel free to send your comments, thoughts or concerns directly to the listed author(s).