Younger Days

When I was younger, oh so many years ago, (at least it feels that way), I remember feeling like I didn't really fit anywhere. But like any young teen, pre-teen girl, I did try.

I made my bangs high. I made my bangs low. I wore short skirts when minis were in, and wore hammer pants (please hammer don't hurt me).

And yet, despite, my very girlish attempts, I never quite made it. I had friends, sure, but I was still the shy one. I didn't fit in any clique. I played in band, but played bass guitar. So I wasn't a band geek. I was scholarly, but not at the top of my class, so I wasn't vying for queen of the nerds. I wasn't cheerleader material.

But I got along with most everyone, and everyone called me friend.

Not because I was outstanding. Or lovely. Or had a sparkling personality. Or even because I was a damn good musician for a 16 year old.

People liked me because I was nice. Oh, and I was funny. Someone once told me I should be a teacher or a comedienne. I tried for teacher. Maybe I should have went the other route. So, I was the nice and funny girl. With big hair. Add shy to the list, and that would explain my stature in my teenage social world.

This is a combo that has never been on anyone's gotta have list.

And while we fight to overcome or get over our younger days, its true that they have a lasting impact.

So here I am. The nice and funny and shy girl - is still nice and still pretty funny, and not nearly as shy as she once was.

And she is still friends with everyone.

But even if the hair is a lot less big, there are still those days when she feels that the only reason she is on any one's list of favorite people is because she is nice.

And nice, is well, nice and all. I wouldn't trade it for anything. But there are days, when I wish someone would say ... you're magnetic, or soulful, or anything else but nice.

Because your Old Aunt Sofie is nice. The girl that you never forget isn't.