Amy Sue Nathan

Do I know you?

This week was Open House at my daughter’s Junior High.  You know, when you meet the teachers, see the classrooms, hear their expectations and stumble through the hallways shoulder to shoulder with hundreds of other parents with their noses in maps so you can sit for ten minutes before the bell rings and you move onto the next classroom. 

We arrived early because although this is a parent-only event, some kids “work it,” directing lost souls, selling T shirts etc.  My daughter had not yet gotten her worker-bee shirt and I said to her as any parent would (or so I thought), “Go find the teacher and get your shirt, I’ll see you later!”  But then I was approached by Mom of Student B, appalled that our two girls had not gotten the shirts like all the other kids.  She was flagging down the principal of all people, insisting on loud-speaker announcements to find said-shirts and corraling me to “C’mon, let’s go find those shirts.” 

Not wanting to appear apathetic or out-done, I pumped my arms and off I went.  She was rambling and chatting the whole way about the injustice of it all, and when we finally found the Keeper of the Shirts she followed her almost-14 year old daughter into the bathroom where she changed. 

Frankly, in 8th grade, I’d have left my daughter to figure it out on her own in that very safe and familiar environment, but it was so damn amusing to me I continued following Mom around.  I felt like I knew her, and we’d  met before, but I didn’t really know her at all.  I was intrigued.  I racked my brain.  And then I knew!

She reminded me of a character in my very own book.  There she was — flesh and blood — not looking anything like said-character but emitting ever characteristic I imagined.  I must admit, in real life, it was very, very entertaining.  She was the quintessential over-involved parent not quite ready to cut the apron strings. She was pleasant and bubbly with something to say, always an opinion to share with too many words.  I liked her, mind you, but was glad I wasn’t her.  It must be exhausting to be her, and I’m plenty exhausted not taking care of every minute detail that my daughter could well handle on her own.  But, I t loved taking mental notes about things I needed to add to my character notes once I got home. 

Finally, walking to our first classroom when the girls were settled, I thought I’d just reinforce for myself that I was on-track with this Mom, really had her number.  I asked her all kinds of questions, kept her talking – I imagine she had no idea I was doing research since I disguised it all as witty banter.

It was a little bit funny and a lot strange — it was deja vu but not.  It was like meeting an old friend after a long separation.

I know that many times writers take an attribute or two, or ten, from people they know and inject them into characters.  But did you ever have a character – perhaps who was even a compilation of others – and THEN meet someone who reminded you of this person you’d constructed out of your imagination?

Lemme tell you.  Pretty darn cool.