Towards the end of eighth grade, I received a rather official letter in the mail, which was exciting enough as it was. It was a very formal letter, informing me that my U.S. history teacher had nominated me to do this six-day summer program where I would go to one of the colleges listed and do some academically-driven stuff (I forget the details). I wasn't interested.
But you know what bothered me most?
It wasn't that it was mostly math and science stuff, which doesn't thrill me in any way. It wasn't that it had been my history teacher nominating me (I hadn't been terribly fond of him). It wasn't even that the closest college was California (I don't like being away from family/home like that).
It was that they spelled my name "Odess Taylors."
In what universe is that a name?
I don't know where it went wrong. Was my history teacher under the impression that that was my name? I'm 99.9 percent sure he knew I was Odessa Taylor. Did he say it over the phone and it got kind of garbled? Somehow, I don't think that's it. Maybe he had really weird handwriting? I don't think anyone has handwriting that bad.
I'm sure many of you are thinking, "Oh my word, Odessa, it's not even that big of a deal. So what if your name got butchered? You gave up an excellent academic opportunity over something that trivial?" Yes, as a matter of fact, I did.
There were other factors, of course (see above). And my name has been messed up plenty of times (see previous blog posts). But this one really grated me the wrong way.
Odess Taylors. Seventeen years of being Odessa Taylor, I've gotten pretty used to the words. (I am fully aware I was fourteen at the time. Chill.) I know how they feel in my mouth. The way my lips open and the way my tongue moves when I say it. I didn't realize how familiar it was until I saw it completely demolished before my eyes. My mouth doesn't open enough. My teeth touch too much. It's wrong. So let's make that crystal clear: I hate the name Odess Taylors. Hate it, hate it, hate it. Keep that in mind.
And the entire letter was like that. Whenever they felt the need to address me directly, it was something along the lines of, "We hope you're considering this excellent opportunity, Odess." It didn't even feel directed to me.
I'm rather protective of my name, in case you couldn't tell.
So, now I'm a junior, and colleges are showing interest in me. I've gotten so many brochures and pamphlets and enthusiastic "Come to our school!" things in the mail, it's crazy. And I have to admit, I rather like seeing "Odessa Taylor" all official on an envelope and everything.
Except that I'm not looking forward to college at all.
Don't get me wrong, I'm excited for the opportunities that college offers. But I'm fine with how my life is now. I like independence up to a point, and college doesn't give me the safe wall I like building around me. I don't like being away from home for extended periods of time (unless it's something really exciting or interesting). I'll probably never see my closest friends. Depending on where I go, I might have to get a second job or quit my current one altogether--which I do not want to do. Not in the slightest.
So, I sit at the kitchen table, looking at the unopened envelopes from the University of Denver and Southern Utah University and Brandeis University and all the others that suddenly are interested in what my plans for the future are, despite never knowing who I am. They all say "Odessa Taylor" on the front, perfectly typed out, but they don't even know what that means.
As foreign as Odess Taylors looked to me, I knew that it came from someone who knew me--even if it wasn't well and even if it was someone I really did not like. My eighth grade U.S. history teacher knew who I was and he knew who he was talking about when he nominated me. These universities? What do they know about me? My grades? The classes I've taken? Probably more, but I doubt they even really know what I look like. And why do they want me? Because they believe that I can be an advantage to their school?
Don't get me wrong: I love that there are colleges interested in me because it's been such a big fear that I'll never get into college. This calms those fears. Also, don't think I'm saying something praiseworthy of my eighth grade U.S. history teacher (I'm looking at you, Alida Nesbitt).
So it's a torn decision. Would I rather sit at the kitchen table, looking in disgust at Odess Taylors being invited to a six-day summer program, or would I rather sit at the kitchen table, looking in shock at Odessa Taylor being invited to attend colleges?
I remember pacing the kitchen with that letter, exclaiming "Odess Taylors?!" to anyone who'd listen. It really bothered me. It's fun to joke about now (I'm looking at you, Bailey Donaldson), but at the time, it was a very touchy subject.
But the biggest thing is, for the couple months that there was at least one person in the world who believed I was named Odess Taylors, I was in eighth grade. Back in junior high. Back where I felt like I belonged. Back to the place where I actually felt like I could make a difference in the world and where I was genuinely happy.
Now, there are people all over the country interested in Odessa Taylor. But it's because she's moving on. She's almost finished with high school. She's going to be going on to college. To many people, this means that she's truly starting her life. She does not feel the way about high school that she felt about junior high.
Is high school fun? Sure. But not like junior high was. Is high school exciting? I guess so. But so was junior high. So many people hate junior high, but I would give just about anything to go back. I'd change my name to Odess Taylors in a heartbeat if I could stay in junior high for the rest of my life.
But I am Odessa Taylor. Odess Taylors does not exist. The colleges got it right, not my eighth grade U.S. history teacher. And as much as a small part of me wishes it was different, I am not Odess Taylors. Odess Taylors only lived for a short time, and she technically never even lived.
So, this is Odessa Taylor, bidding farewell.
I hope your day is as awesome as you.
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