Have you ever stood alone?

The World Shirt Event

My mother was like Pluto–the planet, not the dog. The orbit of Pluto, our solar system’s most remote planet, has an eccentricity of 0.249; more than all other planets and over 14 times the eccentricity of earth. While this extreme departure from normalcy once caused Pluto to be denied its status as a planet, my mother’s eccentricity merely denied her access to normal society. 

The cause of my mother’s ostracism was her intellect. Possessing what her schools called a “genius IQ” imbued her with an insatiable appetite for learning. Every week, she would bring home a giant stack of books from the library on history, biography, and a variety of arcane subjects that she would chew through like a buzz saw through lumber. Her knowledge on most subjects was encyclopedic, but it came at a price. Her Hi-Q rendered her unable to self-reference to understand how others think and feel, and she was perceived as socially “weird.” 

Our mother’s weirdness didn’t bother us, her children, because it was the environment in which we were nurtured.However, on occasions when our mother’s orbit intersected our social circles, we braced ourselves for unfavorable reactions. With a heart as big as all outdoors, my mother embraced all people, hugging children, gushing over those she liked, and calling out those who ran afoul of her moral judgements. Her love for us, her offspring, was unbounded. It was for this reason that we all felt protective of her feelings, even at the risk of suffering social ostracism. 

By the time I reached 10 years of age, my stamp collection had ignited an interest in geography, where I could learn about the countries associated with the faces and events pictured on my postage stamps. I pored through atlases that displayed the locations of countries, their sizes, climates and rulers. It was an all-consuming passion that my mother had quietly observed. One day in a moment of spontaneous generosity, she came home with a special shirt she had purchased using money from her paltry stipend. The entire shirt displayed a colorful map of the world, adorned with the names of continents, countries, and oceans. A grid displaying the Mercator projection could enable any observer to compare the areas of different cells on the grid. The shirt was definitely a work of art for those with an eye for such things, but Grade 6 students were not into works of art. Not only did the shirt resemble a world atlas, but it represented schoolwork and would certainly be relegated to the list of those things that are deemed to be “uncool.” My gratitude for this gift, expressed effusively to my mother, brought an unqualified joy to her face, while I secretly wondered how I could avoid wearing this shirt around my friends. Later, that day I hung it near the back of my closet, saving it for a weekend debut. 

The next morning, I faced the inevitable challenge. Mother jubilantly presented me with what later became known as the “world shirt” for its inaugural showing at Rosedale School. Recognizing my inability to explain to her why this exquisite work of art was “uncool,” and unwilling to destroy her joy, I braced myself and donned the shirt. As I entered the kitchen for breakfast, my siblings conveyed their alarm with comments like, “real cool,” “good luck” and “nice shirt.” Their sarcasm was lost on mother; as students at Rosedale School, they lived the culture and knew that I was about to enter the lions den of social ridicule. 

After breakfast, I embarked on the 10-minute walk to school, fearing the first encounter with a classmate. As I climbed the small hill that led to the playground, the horizon filled with blue sky gradually revealed a heavily populated playground bustling with activity. Moving toward the baseball diamond, I encountered my first classmate, arm outstretched, and pointing derisively to my shirt. His squeals of ridicule drew others in a tribal frenzy that quickly escalated into the insults and ridicule that tribes rain down on those who defy tribal norms. Attempts to deflect the ridicule in other directions served only to foment greater outrage and ridicule. 

When the bell rang to summon us into school, I joined with my classmates who continued the barrage with, “Hey can I sit behind you during the social studies test?” and “It looks like you spilled tomato sauce on Australia.” The ridicule diminished during class, but reached a new crescendo during recess. I laughed along with the rest, attempting a few humorous remarks to defray the abuse, but soon recognized that my punishment for running afoul of the tribal rules had to run its course. I walked home alone, feeling isolated and totally rejected by my classmates.

On reaching home, I saw my mother waiting expectantly on the front porch for a report on the success of my world shirt. Her face was radiant with the unbridled joy of a mother’s love, removing any possibility of a “true confessions” session. 

“Ma, the kids loved it! No one had ever seen a shirt like it, and I was the center of attention,” I said, gathering all the strength I could muster to feign jubilance. The joy on my mother’s face was handsome payment for my charade. Later that night, I threw the world shirt into the hamper and climbed into my pajamas, sighing with relief that the worst day of my life was behind me. 

The next morning, I was awakened by the creak of the old ironing board as my mother rushed to press the freshly-washed world shirt so that I could have another sensational day at school. As before, I accepted the loving gesture with gratitude and enthusiasm, suddenly realizing that this was a problem that wouldn’t go away any time soon.

On arriving on the Rosedale playground, I discovered that the ridicule, while still present, was beginning to abate. The tribe needed a new victim and my world shirt was old news. Throughout the remainder of the year, I continued to wear the world shirt, but the intervals between wearings increased as mother fell behind in her ironing. Mercifully, I finally outgrew the world shirt and was able to commend it to the deep with dignity. They say that what doesn’t kill you, makes you strong, and I have often looked back on this event and realized that the world shirt was one of the greatest gifts I would receive. It provided me with the invaluable freedom that comes with the ability to distance oneself from the tribe. 

A few short years later, at the age of 48, my mother succumbed to lupus. As they lowered her casket into the grave, I thought about her love and the infamous world shirt that taught me how to stand alone.

Postscript: Years later, I came across the following quote attributed to Friedrich Nietzsche:

The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself.