Embarrassment Redux

I would like to make an amendment to my previous blog post about feeling embarrassed.  At the time, I only had difficulty in expressing my frame of reference for embarrassment.  It wasn’t that I didn’t feel embarrassment, since there were certain acts I was loathe to do in view of full public, but didn’t consider those worthy of being my most embarrassing moments.

Just recently, I experienced an incident that had me re-evaluating my previous description.  I limited embarrassment as being a social construct, the visible type to blush furiously when unfairly placed in social situations, such as being forced in admitting to having a crush in a teasing public.  But there were other manifestations that I hadn’t considered.

On this particular day, I was on my way out after doing some volunteer preparations when I entered the Metro and saw the station terminal was delayed.  Since there was a larger crowd than usual, I decided to check out the bus schedule to the next station.  That involved leaving the terminal and going back upstairs to see the timesheets, which showed that they’d be coming in about 20 minutes or so, and I’d just missed the last one by 2 minutes.

I attempted to go back and see if the Metro was running late, but my card refused to go past the main gate, having already having used it very recently, and not passing the honor system.  I briefly said a few words to the Ticket Counter to try to explain my predicament, outlining the details above.  He said a few words that I didn’t understand.  I stood expressionless, nodded and then turned back towards the bus stop.  Only, I decided not to wait for the bus, but walk to the next station instead.

As I was trekking, I became acutely aware of how heavy my backpack was, having brought some library books that were due.  I was accustomed to carrying heavy loads, since I enjoy the weight while it’s resting on my lap as I sit on the bus, but it makes for unpleasant travel companions during long walking hours.  Which is why I take public transportation in the first place.

I ruminated about my current predicament, going over the previous events in my mind.  Sure, I could’ve made things simpler if I’d just waited, but that would’ve made things uncomfortable waiting in a crowded station with no way of knowing when the next subway would come or if the delay would be longer than expected.  Sure I could’ve waited for the bus, but it didn’t feel right to be standing around doing nothing.  There was also the possibility of catching another bus going my way.  I could’ve simply explained my situation more clearly to the man behind the ticket counter, but that would’ve been too - 

oh.

At that moment, I realized that embarrassment wasn’t limited to just being uncomfortable in group conversations.  I didn’t register it as embarrassment because that’s my default state.  When things get too difficult for me to explain, I find it easier to do it on my own.

The ironic part is that this happened right after I’d helped out with my volunteer organization for hard of hearing people to seek out services.  And right next to the library that day, there was a booth for Deaf and Disability Arts Practices.  I had an extraordinary amount of trouble asking the people there if a pamphlet available there was free or not, despite doing my best to gesture emphatically and raising my mask up to be better lipread.  Even though these were people who should’ve been easily able to convey their agenda forward, communicating in a noisy environment was still an unsurmountable obstacle.

If you want to see yourself in a good light, you’ll avoid situations that’ll leave you looking bad.  It’s also why so many elderly people are reluctant to admit their hearing which they’ve grown dependent on is starting to become less reliable than usual.  As a result, there’ll be increased instances of flare-ups due to miscommunications and misunderstandings, keeping your distance from people you were once close to.  Loneliness is one of the easiest causes of dementia, and deafness just enhances it.

There’ve been times when I’ve gotten frustrated over someone’s inability to understand me, despite my thinking that I was speaking clearly enough, a growing annoyance of having to repeat myself, the recipient unwilling to believe my words.

Though I’ve certainly never gone as far as to vehemently deny the existence of certain family members.

Ignoring your relatives so you'll remain on speaking terms.

How Embarrassing...?

One of the first writing assignments I was ever given in High School was to write about my most embarrassing moment.  I just wrote down something along the likes of, “Having to write this stupid infantile meaningless (etc.)... essay.”  It was a litany of double-spaced synonyms stretching down the page, and after handing it in, I was told to redo it properly.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to write up something personally embarrassing to me.  It was that I couldn’t remember one.  To me, being unable to think up anything was embarrassing in itself.

I couldn’t remember anything that could be considered embarrassing, so I made something up that could be considered embarrassing to other people. That essay was accepted and praised for being more honest.  But I can’t recall a word I wrote.

I’ve never been accustomed to feeling embarrassed.  Being self-conscious about being seen doing something in public, sure.  Being uncomfortable about reading / watching something that makes me emotionally insecure, sure.  But, not typical things that would normally embarrass other people.  I didn’t mind when my Mom showed up at school to give presentations and help out.  She was looking out and supporting me.

As a kid, I would be late for when the school bus came to pick me up, being more preoccupied with the TV.  At first, Mom had me go to school in my pyjamas, *certain* that the shame would shake me out of my complacency.  It didn’t.

I only changed my habits when I went to school without having lunch prepared, and then wasn’t allowed to have any food.  The teachers had been warned beforehand, and were told not to share their lunches with me, no matter how much I complained, even as they agonized over my reactions, but my Mom said it was necessary.  When I came home that day, I was practically starving, and my Mom said something along the likes of, “If you had been prepared before the bus came, you would’ve had lunch.”

Since then, I’ve always made it a point to be on time for anything.

It might’ve seemed borderline abusive at the time, but she was just applying Logical Consequences, which are different from Natural Consequences, where a child learns things after making silly mistakes and figuring things out, which is pretty much the mainstay of children’s TV episodes.  Once the child realizes that certain actions result in certain consequences, they’ll be better prepared to avoid doing that again.  But other times, there are moments when simply learning the lesson afterwards doesn’t work, or won’t stick without outside intervention. 

My main problem was that I never learned these potentially reputation-saving lessons until long after the fact.

When most other students would have been embarrassed at the concept of sex ed, I just engaged the lessons with the same clinical detachment as any other class, having been familiar with the source material, thanks to books like Where Did I Come From? and What’s Happening to Me?, which explained body functions like the most normal thing in the world with silly drawings.

That in turn led to me being called the 12-letter ‘M’ word.  (No, the other one)

One time in class, the teacher gave a question.  I don’t remember the question, let alone what subject we were talking about.  It could’ve been ‘things that were once thought to be harmful’, but I remember the answer I piped up with, which was, “Like Masturbating?” which elicited tons of laughs from all the students around me.  I had no idea what was so funny, and it had to be explained that even though the text said the act wasn’t something to be ashamed of, what I said wasn’t the kind of thing normally said in public conversation.  For about a year, I was paired up with a lab partner who disparagingly nickednamed me ‘Masturbation’.

Even though the act was on my mind, having it continuously pointed out and reminded really rankled on me.  I couldn’t understand why these High School teens were so utterly infantile about basic sexuality.  (Looking back on my thoughts and actions now, that should’ve been a big honking clue)

To this day, I have reoccurring dreams of being naked at school, but in these scenarios, I’m more concerned about completing my 3-month project due in 2 weeks that I haven’t even started and didn’t even know about.

I also never understood what was supposed to be so funny about men wearing women’s clothes.

If it was okay for women to wear men’s clothes, then shouldn’t the reverse be true?  Just wear whatever’s comfortable!  If the clothes you want to wear are on the other side of the rack, that shouldn’t be a deterrent, just as long as it fits.  

I don’t really care about fashion or style, just function.  My choices are fairly basic.  I prefer to wear soft clothes with seamless seams, little social commentary (allegiance to specific sports teams or cartoons are visually distracting) I’ve often had to have the holes in my clothes pointed out, since I’m so used to feeling comfortable, and don’t really care about how I’m perceived.

When I started getting more invested in comics that weren’t of the Newspaper variety, I was quite enthusiastic about reading digest collections of Richie Rich and Archie.  (Don’t sneer - they were extremely popular and cheap) But the more I read them, the more I noticed that there was an element in these comics that kept cropping up that annoyed me.  It wasn’t the repetitive plots, the page limitations or the corny jokes.  It was that the sentences invariably ended with exclamation points, and there were very few instances where periods were put in place, and that put me off.  (Question marks didn’t count)

When I become overexposed to media, I become hyper-aware of the limitations of the form, and once notice something that keeps showing up, it becomes impossible to ignore, especially when certain themes start to show up.

I don’t know when it started (probably around Twilight & the Hunger Games), but I got annoyed when dystopian stories struggling under suppression started shoehorning in romance plots which only served to distract, particularly love triangles that hardly elevated the story, and would’ve benefited from their absence.  Why did EVERY story need a forced romance subplot?  Being more interested in creating artificial drama than authentic chemistry.

I got so annoyed by this that I even parodied this outlook early on in my WebNovel:

Potential Asexuals: Schroeder

One of my drafts for a potential blog entry was exploring how the cast of Peanuts wound up influencing the character designs for other famous comics, even if they weren’t obvious or intentional.

Charlie Brown - Krillin from Dragon Ball.

Sally Brown - Emily Elizabeth from Clifford the Big Red Dog.

Lucy - Cathy’s sales clerk, Mabel

Linus - Izzy from Digimon.

Marcie - Honey from Doonesbury.

Peppermint Patty - arguably Marie Kanker from Ed Edd and Eddy.

And working backwards in terms of influence, Schroeder was likely inspired by Little Lord Fauntleroy.

However, the major difference between Schroeder and those snobby upper-class twits is that Schroeder never lorded his piano talent over his friends, essentially remaining one of the gang, even as his obsession may have weirded them out.

It was argued that Schroeder’s obsession with Beethoven and music was a reflection of Schultz’s dedication to crafting the Peanuts comic strip.  But the wonderfully versatile nature of Peanuts makes them widely open to interpretation.  If the model fits...

Another rationale is that Lucy is simply too unlikable to be with even in the best of times, being too much of a fussbudget (to put it politely), and that these are children, too young to engage in any serious romance.  But the rest of Peanuts is filled with unrequited longing for unattainable lovers.  Of the larger secondary cast of Peanuts, Schroeder is the only minor character who isn’t actively interested in pursuing unrequited romance with anyone.  His devotion to Beethoven is entirely one-sided, secure in the knowledge that the composer died out centuries ago, his masterpieces preserved to be absorbed and appreciated.  (Also, Beethoven is the only adult face to regularly appear in Peanuts.)

Who else would buy busts of Beethoven in bulk?

I looked up online to see if anybody else explored this theory further, and was surprised to only find a single Reddit question.  The closest alternative in exploring his alleged sexuality was in a blog entry showing potential homoeroticism, the only flaw being that Schroeder never displayed any affection towards any of the boys as well.  So with that in mind, let’s break down the fundamentals of why I feel Schroeder is a potential Asexual candidate.

The most obvious example is that Schroeder displays little to no interest to the girls leaning on his piano, finding them more of a distraction and tolerating Lucy at best.

Schroeder isn't totally ignorant about matters of love.  He simply doesn't have any inclinations towards it.

The only time we see him flustered is when he’s complimented for his looks, but that could easily be a result of being unaccustomed to being praised for something outside his skill set.

For the most part, Schroeder's fraught relationship with Lucy consisted mainly of Lucy making up the majority of the conversation, resulting in a monologue while he whaled away on his piano, hunched over in a Glenn Gould manner, punctuated by the occasional unwelcome interruption.

Here's a sampling of some of their most memorable dialogues:

Lucy didn't take these constant rejections of her advances well, to the point that she started taking more extreme measures to get his attention.

Silly girl.  Removing his obsession in front of him isn’t gong to endear him closer to you.  Quite the opposite in fact!

The strip above might come across as being callous, but it could also be read as Schroeder trying to be sympathetic in the only way he knows how.

When it comes to exploring life outside the piano room, Schroeder was most commonly seen on the baseball field, secure in the role of catcher, where Charlie Brown's abysmal pitching averages meant that his delicate hands were in no danger of being injured.  In that setting, there was the mini-arc where Lucy said she'd hit a home run in exchange for favors:

Like many Asexuals, I have no interest in getting married, but would be willing to undergo the ritual for someone else’ sake, such as saving someone from a loveless marriage, preserving their hidden sexual orientation or helping their immigration status.  In that sense, Schroeder’s willingness to undergo some brief discomfort for the greater good appeals to me as well.

And if a surrogate can do the job, that would be even better.

As with any discussion of publication over the course of 50 years, anomalies are bound to crop up, so let's get these examples out of the way.  One of the rare instances where Schroeder showed genuine concern was when Lucy temporarily moved away.

However, when Lucy moved back, Schroeder showed no notice to her presence, so it's difficult to tell if he was affected or not.

The biggest argument that Schroeder might not be considered Asexual (Aromantic at the very least) would be this Sunday comic which could be the exception that proves the rule.

Let's break the scene down.  Lucy gives a cupcake commemorating the birth of his favorite composer when she normally doesn't display rudimentary knowledge about music, after which Schroeder gives a peck on the cheek unprompted.  And when she runs away screaming, makes an effort to correct her misunderstanding.  When Schroeder isn't pressured into displaying signs of affection, he's more likely to reciprocate in kind.

There's also this moment where Schroeder gives the most impassionate speech he ever made that wasn't related to baseball or Beethoven, on Violet giving a pity Valentine.  He clearly has thoughts on the subject.

Of course, Charlie Brown is so starved for affection he'll take whatever breadcrumbs come his way.

In closing, it feels appropriate to borrow a line from Citizen Kane: “A toast, Jedediah, to love on my terms. Those are the only terms anybody ever knows - his own.”