I have a perception of who I am. Everyone does. I have a
perception of how I was originally designed and then a perception of who I
would like to become, and I fall somewhere in the middle. I don’t want to be
who my original self-perception was. Sometimes I turn my own selfie camera around
and look at who I am, and I’m amazed. I am NOT who I was.
I was shy. I was introverted. I was weak. I was unwilling to
stand up or to speak out. I was afraid. I was plain. I was untalented and
clumsy and awkward. I was a minion, a follower. A victim. Someone to be
trampled over.
Today, I was telling my daughter stories and it all crashed
over me in a tsunami effect that my self-perception is completely false. It actually
could not be more false.
In sixth grade we switched from tiny private Bible school to
public school. It was a very tough transition for me in many ways. I broke my
mom’s heart as I sobbed in her arms to send me back to private school, but it
was no longer an option. In 7th grade I joined band because my BFF
was God’s Gift to Music and All Other Things I Ever Aspired To Be. I was awful –
no rhythm, no talent, no beat - no nothing. All the public school kids had
started in 5th grade and actually had some smidgeon of talent. Even
my band directors shook their head and thought I should give it up. I can’t
even tell you how it feels to have the director stop mid-song, repeatedly, to let
you know you are ruining it, and have everyone start all over.
I could have quit. I should have quit. I had no business
there. Every week you had to pass so many “exercises” to get an A, B or C. I
was at an F level, but I did double what it took to get an A. My band teacher,
Mr. B., was blown away by my tenacity. He would fail me on one, I would come
back the next day ready to present four more. He would fail me on three, I was ready
the next day with six.
By the time I got to high school, I earned 2nd
and 3rd chair, out of about 15-20 flutists.
The problem now was, my high school band director, Mr. E.,
was the biggest jerk on the face of the planet. I knew it, and I was not about
to let it slide by. We butted heads for four long years. You think ha, ha, ha
that’s cute, they butted heads – but this was on a whole other level. This was
not cute! This was the school should have hired an interventionist or attorney,
but no one ever did.
He called all the girls “Toots” and refused to call them by
name. So during marching band practice, I knew he was yelling at me, but I refused
to answer to “Toots” and just kept on doing what I was doing. And he, at the
same time, refused to call me by my name. It was a continual destructive dance.
I was obstinate, and so was he. I refused to memorize my music, I refused to
even carry my flute (I took it apart and put it in my overall pockets), I
refused to wear shoes. I refused to stop when he said stop. I refused to go
when he said go. And he refused to call me by my name. Neither one of us ever
gave in. Ever!
He would see me sitting in my 2nd or 3rd
chair and say, “You! Move!” And he would knock me down to 6th or 8th
chair. To move back up, you had to challenge the next person and the next
person and the next person, with my old band director (Mr. B. who was now
promoted to high school) deciding who won the challenge. I’d creep back up to 2nd
or 3rd chair and Mr. E would look out and see me and say “You! Toots!
Move! 8th chair!” And I’d do it all over again.
He was huge – 6’8” tall or so. A giant. Bigger than my
brothers, even. But I was not afraid. I remember I skipped band for about two
weeks straight on purpose because he was so mean to me anyway, and he threw me
out of the performance. If you missed the performance, no matter what else, you
failed band. So I came anyway, and hid in a bathroom in the gymnasium below the
auditorium and jumped in line at the last minute. He tried to grab me before I
got on stage but I dodged him (literally, side swiped my torso section). Once I
was on stage, what was he to do in front of 200 parents? We performed. I got my
A.
At one point we were hanging out in the band room before
class, and I made him extremely agitated somehow. He grabbed me by my long
blonde hair. There was no side-stepping this time. He bent me over frontwards,
and hit me on my back. I don’t remember how, but I am 100% certain I antagonized
him. I felt I had it coming, but at the same time, it scared me to death.
In reality I was a child. (That is a huge statement for me).
In reality, I was a child. I was a child. I was a child.
I skipped the next class hour and went down to the gym and
hid under the bleachers and cried and cried and cried and wondered what to do.
At the end of that hour I went to the principal’s office and told him what
happened, and Mr. E. got suspended for 3 days with no pay. I think he got a vasectomy
in that time.
Waste not want not!
Mr. E. and I must have landed in the principal’s office at
least three times in my high school career, and the principal always supported
me. In fact, he openly laughed at my audacity.
I refused to follow Mr. E.’s system. Little 16 year old Ami Feller
versus the Best Marching Band Director in the Entire State of Iowa. I ran into
him last year in the Dominican Republic and we hugged and acted like best
friends. Edith said, why did you hug him? I told her at some point, you just
have to let things go. It was 20 years ago. Let the past be the past. She said
it seemed like he did, but that I didn’t.
That might be true.
Maybe I never let myself off my own hook. My self-perception
of my 11 and 16 year old self are complete crap. I was never weak or complying
or worn down. I was willing to face a 6’8” giant twice my age with a title and a
position, and I was not afraid. I had my middle finger up to this guy, and I
won.
I was really David facing Goliath. And for a very good
reason.
Crap Self Perception.
There is no need to be in awe of who I am.
I am who I was always meant to be. And who I always was.
