In the wrong direction, lacking skill, turned the wrong way, causing or feeling embarrassment or inconvenience. I immediately ran to my dictionary to look up the definition, while my grandmother responded with “She’ll grow into herself.” Awk On the day of The Meeting, I overheard a conversation between my mother and grandmother and picked up the word “awkward” as my mom described me. Some soon to be step-family members were not attending the dinner at all, mortified at The Telling, which made the event even more worrisome and dramatic. And based on my nearly perfect eavesdropping skills, according to my mother and grandmother, this turkey was probably not going to win any prizes.

In the days gearing up for Sunday dinner, I prepared myself for being observed, analyzed, and inspected. Don’t embarrass, don’t blab, don’t overshare. Do be polite, do be quiet, do be respectful. And then there were the do’s and the don’ts. Since it was a struggle to put food on the table, I thought the clothing purchase was excessive. In preparation for The Meeting, my mother was running around with a new purpose, buying fancy clothes for the three of us. She was always my rock and protector, so I was very relieved, although still a bundle of stress and nerves. I was scared to death to meet the step-folks, but I felt better when my grandmother said that she was coming as well. I wasn’t privy to The Telling outcome, although I did overhear bits and pieces when my mother spoke about it to my grandmother- and it didn’t sound like it went well at all.Ī few days later I was informed that my mom was taking me to meet my soon-to-be step-family for Sunday dinner. I called it “The Telling” when I wrote about it in my diary that night. So according to my mom, she was going to have a sit down with his family to break the news. I didn’t know if his family even knew that my mother had married once before, but they apparently knew nothing about me. Her bad news was that she and my soon-to-be stepfather had never told his family about me. It had been a stressful week leading up to the memorable Sunday that I met Pam back in March of 1966. She was strikingly beautiful, and I was skinny, lanky and-awkward. The first time I met Pam, I was thirteen, and she was fourteen. Then melancholy swept over me, and I couldn’t help but recall all the nights I sat on that swing, arms locked with my step-cousin Pam, watching the sunset. I was peaceful and serene and swayed on the swing, taking in nature and reminiscing. The trees were sprouting first buds, and everything smelled of new growth. Relaxing on my pergola swing recently, I reveled in the greenery and inhaled the scent of fresh grass and spring air.

Read My Lips by Teri Brown