The Button

 

    I finally went through the box that I picked up  the last time I went to my parent's house. There were cards, school pictures, my books from Girls Scouts and a yellow square of fabric with a black button sewn in the middle of it. My initials were written on one corner of the fabric. 

   Why would I have saved it?  It wasn't a fancy button. It didn't look like it was cut off a shirt or other garment. There was nothing unusual or pretty about it. I was about to put it with the things I planned to throw away when it hit me. I knew where that button came from.

    It was the infamous button from home ec class. That year we were learning to sew and clothing construction. Our class assignment was to sew a button on a piece of fabric.  For some reason the male classmates sitting on either side of me thought it would be fun to poke and pinch  me from shoulders to hips front and back while I did my assignment. I remember doing my best to sew the button on while slapping at their hands. In those days I sat up front so I could see the blackboard better. In home ec class I was sitting in front of the teacher who apparently saw nothing.

    I know I told my mother what happened. When we talked about it several years later, she told me that one of the boys called to apologize and I said it was ok. I don't remember the call. I'm sure I was nice to him because he was one of the ones who bullied me at school. Making him angry would just make things worse.    

    I was a little puzzled about why I would have saved the button. In the years after that incident, I developed several unhealthy coping mechanisms including a need to keep anyone I don't know at least 18 inches away from me. That button would have triggered a lot of bad memories. maybe I had just forgotten about it.

    The question in front of me was what I should do with it now. C thought I should throw it out. There was no reason to keep it. It was not precious and had no value. He did make a good point, but for some reason I wanted to keep it. I thought about it on and off for several weeks.

    A few days ago, the reason came to me. This is a victory button. I moved on. I survived the treatment from those boys. I didn't let them decide who I was or what I could do. The button was the only tangible thing I had from that part of my life. I could look at at that button and feel proud of myself.

    I put the button in my top dresser drawer where I have several keepsakes. When I have hard times, I can take it out and tell myself that I can handle it. I've done it before.