Post by Rhonda on Jun 11, 2009 3:32:42 GMT -5
Making a Difference
From Chicken Soup for the Soul: Twins and More
By Tamara Mays
Comparison, more than reality, makes men happy or wretched.
~Thomas Fuller
I dreaded my twin sister Rachel coming to my school. She was to serve as a judge for a "College Dreams" door decorating contest I was holding at the elementary school in which I am a counselor. A judge. No one had been judged more than the two of us. All our lives, we'd been stared at, gawked at, studied, mocked, compared, analyzed, chased down like celebrities avoiding the paparazzi, and treated like four-leaf-clovers. In high school, I'd written an article titled "I Know What It's Like to Be Famous." Drawing crowds when we worked at Montgomery Ward together, the inevitable always happened. Customers would begin to whisper, then rumble, until one brave soul would say: "Are you twins?" One of us would answer "yes," and the crowd would erupt in shouts, outdoing each other with "I knew it!" We'd force a grin across our faces and shoot a look across the register.
Our feet killed us after standing for hours in those dress code required shoes, so it wasn't easy to be nice day after day while answering a series of the same old questions we'd heard a gazillion times. "Can you feel her pain?" "Do you think the same thoughts?" "Can you finish each other's sentences?" "Who was born first (like that made a difference)?" I longed for originality, but had become a pro at answering repetitive interview questions. I guess we were good actresses because no one ever caught on how frustrating being a twin can be. People wanted hugs, pictures, to chat, and could be downright hurtful sometimes. "She's the fat one." "She's the mean one." Or, "She's the wild one."
Our manager finally said, "We have to separate you two. You're causing a frenzy."
"Thank you," we said.
It's always awkward when someone you don't know comes up and talks to you like they've known you forever, when in reality you've never met. Once, I met one of my sister's coworkers in the elevator during jury duty. Having breakfast with her was fun, but strained. I didn't know what to talk about since I'd never seen her before, but she talked as though we were old friends. Another time, I got my sister into trouble when I sat next to a friend of hers and didn't say a word. Later, Rachel was confronted about how mean she was not to speak. When she explained that she had a twin, her friend burst into laughter.
Growing up, I tired of dressing in matching clothes. I wanted my own identity. By seventh grade, I protested that I wanted my own friends, to be completely separate from my sister, and to dress in my own style. My shop-a-holic mother protested: "Who will I choose for when I find a nice outfit?"
Now that we're older, I can appreciate having an instant companion my own age who goes through many of the same things I do. But I have never quite recovered from some of the torment of growing up a twin. Being stared at so much made me shy, and the last thing I wanted was to go to work and have to endure the same thing all over again. At this point in my career, I was beginning to wonder if I made a difference or if it was time to move on. But it was nice being known as an individual, with people getting to know me for me. Going shopping with my sister or out to eat with her always drew attention. Sometimes, we wanted to fade into the crowd with everyone else, but we never could.
So, now, what would happen when my sister came to my work? What would my coworkers and the students say? Would we have to entertain the same tired questions? Would they compare our mannerisms, our voices, our quirks while we uncomfortably stood there on display? I was already stressed enough, and it seemed that nothing was going right. Already, people had bailed on judging the contest. Out of desperation at the last minute, I had called up my sister. I knew that I could rely on her. "Of course, I will be a judge," she said. The day arrived, but at 12 o'clock, she hadn't. I called several times and got no answer.
Finally, I left a message on her voice mail and said, "If you make it, I'll be in the teacher's lounge having lunch." I figured she was running late and would arrive just in time to judge. In the lounge, we were also celebrating my boss's birthday, so there were lots of people. Mid-bite, the door opened. I heard all the gasps and looked up. In walked Rachel. I immediately held up a napkin to cover my face as I could feel all the eyes darting from her to me, her to me.
"Gosh, you two look exactly alike!" someone said. I could feel my face burning with embarrassment.
Without missing a beat, my twin said, "Hey, everybody. I was in the hallway, and a little kindergarten class went crazy, waving at me and hugging me. I thought, ‘My goodness, these kids talk to strangers!' Then they started calling my name, and I said, ‘No, that's not me. I'm her sister!' You should've seen their teacher's jaw drop! She said, ‘You've got to be kidding me!'" Everyone in the lounge howled with laughter. My sister became instant friends with everyone as they joked and teased her about being my twin.
After lunch, we convened with the other judges, and I sent them off to look at each decorated door. After a while, I decided to check their progress. My sister was nowhere to be found. I spotted one of the judges and asked her if she'd seen my sister.
"Your sister is way behind. She keeps getting stopped by every class."
When I found her, she was surrounded by a swarm of children all chatting to her at once. At each door, the same thing happened.
When it was all over, my sister said, "My goodness, I've had a good day at your school. This was a blast!"
"Really?" I asked. "Sorry that you got stopped so much."
"I've never received so much positive attention in my life!" she said. "One thing I know for sure is that the students love you!"
"What makes you think that?" I asked.
"They all wanted to talk to me and show me their pictures and share with me what they're learning. They all thought I was you!" For the first time ever, I had fun being compared with my sister. For the rest of the day, I found myself laughing at some of the things the children said to us. I had been reaffirmed through my sister's eyes. I was making a difference.
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From Chicken Soup for the Soul: Twins and More
By Tamara Mays
Comparison, more than reality, makes men happy or wretched.
~Thomas Fuller
I dreaded my twin sister Rachel coming to my school. She was to serve as a judge for a "College Dreams" door decorating contest I was holding at the elementary school in which I am a counselor. A judge. No one had been judged more than the two of us. All our lives, we'd been stared at, gawked at, studied, mocked, compared, analyzed, chased down like celebrities avoiding the paparazzi, and treated like four-leaf-clovers. In high school, I'd written an article titled "I Know What It's Like to Be Famous." Drawing crowds when we worked at Montgomery Ward together, the inevitable always happened. Customers would begin to whisper, then rumble, until one brave soul would say: "Are you twins?" One of us would answer "yes," and the crowd would erupt in shouts, outdoing each other with "I knew it!" We'd force a grin across our faces and shoot a look across the register.
Our feet killed us after standing for hours in those dress code required shoes, so it wasn't easy to be nice day after day while answering a series of the same old questions we'd heard a gazillion times. "Can you feel her pain?" "Do you think the same thoughts?" "Can you finish each other's sentences?" "Who was born first (like that made a difference)?" I longed for originality, but had become a pro at answering repetitive interview questions. I guess we were good actresses because no one ever caught on how frustrating being a twin can be. People wanted hugs, pictures, to chat, and could be downright hurtful sometimes. "She's the fat one." "She's the mean one." Or, "She's the wild one."
Our manager finally said, "We have to separate you two. You're causing a frenzy."
"Thank you," we said.
It's always awkward when someone you don't know comes up and talks to you like they've known you forever, when in reality you've never met. Once, I met one of my sister's coworkers in the elevator during jury duty. Having breakfast with her was fun, but strained. I didn't know what to talk about since I'd never seen her before, but she talked as though we were old friends. Another time, I got my sister into trouble when I sat next to a friend of hers and didn't say a word. Later, Rachel was confronted about how mean she was not to speak. When she explained that she had a twin, her friend burst into laughter.
Growing up, I tired of dressing in matching clothes. I wanted my own identity. By seventh grade, I protested that I wanted my own friends, to be completely separate from my sister, and to dress in my own style. My shop-a-holic mother protested: "Who will I choose for when I find a nice outfit?"
Now that we're older, I can appreciate having an instant companion my own age who goes through many of the same things I do. But I have never quite recovered from some of the torment of growing up a twin. Being stared at so much made me shy, and the last thing I wanted was to go to work and have to endure the same thing all over again. At this point in my career, I was beginning to wonder if I made a difference or if it was time to move on. But it was nice being known as an individual, with people getting to know me for me. Going shopping with my sister or out to eat with her always drew attention. Sometimes, we wanted to fade into the crowd with everyone else, but we never could.
So, now, what would happen when my sister came to my work? What would my coworkers and the students say? Would we have to entertain the same tired questions? Would they compare our mannerisms, our voices, our quirks while we uncomfortably stood there on display? I was already stressed enough, and it seemed that nothing was going right. Already, people had bailed on judging the contest. Out of desperation at the last minute, I had called up my sister. I knew that I could rely on her. "Of course, I will be a judge," she said. The day arrived, but at 12 o'clock, she hadn't. I called several times and got no answer.
Finally, I left a message on her voice mail and said, "If you make it, I'll be in the teacher's lounge having lunch." I figured she was running late and would arrive just in time to judge. In the lounge, we were also celebrating my boss's birthday, so there were lots of people. Mid-bite, the door opened. I heard all the gasps and looked up. In walked Rachel. I immediately held up a napkin to cover my face as I could feel all the eyes darting from her to me, her to me.
"Gosh, you two look exactly alike!" someone said. I could feel my face burning with embarrassment.
Without missing a beat, my twin said, "Hey, everybody. I was in the hallway, and a little kindergarten class went crazy, waving at me and hugging me. I thought, ‘My goodness, these kids talk to strangers!' Then they started calling my name, and I said, ‘No, that's not me. I'm her sister!' You should've seen their teacher's jaw drop! She said, ‘You've got to be kidding me!'" Everyone in the lounge howled with laughter. My sister became instant friends with everyone as they joked and teased her about being my twin.
After lunch, we convened with the other judges, and I sent them off to look at each decorated door. After a while, I decided to check their progress. My sister was nowhere to be found. I spotted one of the judges and asked her if she'd seen my sister.
"Your sister is way behind. She keeps getting stopped by every class."
When I found her, she was surrounded by a swarm of children all chatting to her at once. At each door, the same thing happened.
When it was all over, my sister said, "My goodness, I've had a good day at your school. This was a blast!"
"Really?" I asked. "Sorry that you got stopped so much."
"I've never received so much positive attention in my life!" she said. "One thing I know for sure is that the students love you!"
"What makes you think that?" I asked.
"They all wanted to talk to me and show me their pictures and share with me what they're learning. They all thought I was you!" For the first time ever, I had fun being compared with my sister. For the rest of the day, I found myself laughing at some of the things the children said to us. I had been reaffirmed through my sister's eyes. I was making a difference.
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