Please Notice Me

This article is not based on research. It's my personal observation and experience that I have a deep-rooted craving for attention.

As a child, I wanted to be the shining star, the apple of anybody's eye. It didn't turn out that way. Much of the attention I got was unfavorable. I shoplifted, ditched school, ran away, wanted to become Jewish (which really ticked off my stepfather), got into fights and whatever else I could do to be noticed.

Then, still a teenager, I went into a shell and did my best to not be noticed. I became very inhibited, and that continued until I was about 40. Maybe I didn't feel comfortable in my own skin. I didn't come into full bloom until I was 60.

I was working part-time in a small office with some really terrific people. I felt that I had found my niche - good camaraderie, accepted as part of the group just the way I am, and I really let it all hang out. I loved it when I'd say or do something that would bring laughter to others, and I wasn't trying to be funny. If my high school classmates could see me now they'd be shocked that the quiet little mouse has gone into hiding and in its place is a semi-tamed imp.

One of my favorite experiences in having fun was when my friend had a get-together at her house. I wasn't drunk; I was drinking coffee! A young lady at the get-together had a cell phone that could record. Miss show off (me) started singing songs. I laughed uproariously over nothing and pretty soon everybody was laughing. We were all just having a lot of fun. My friend copied the recordings to tape and at my going away party at work, played the tape for everyone at the going-away party to hear. Was I embarrassed? Oh no! I was in my element, being the center of attention, seeing people's laughter.

I was adult enough to be businesslike when called for, yet "kid" enough to close my eyes, twirl myself in an office chair, and then open my eyes so I could feel dizzy. Whee! Another favorite activity was to blow up a paper bag, then pop it. A friend who worked in the same office gave me a package of paper lunch bags for my birthday "for the kid in me." Isn't it strange that I haven't had an urge to do any bag-popping since that job ended? Nobody's around to startle or get a kick out of my antics anymore.

If my cat wasn't so sensitive, I might do the bag-popping just to see her jump, but she'd run under the bed to get away from that crazy woman making all that noise!

It's been rewarding to me to come out of my shell, no longer inhibited by worrying about what other people will think of me. Being older has its privileges.