Elves In My Head

In honor of the Christmas holiday, I’d like to take it back old school style.  As many of you may know, I was a bit of a nerd.  Before full-fledged nerddom set in, however, there were many telltale signs.  One of them being the story I am about to share with you.  It fits the Christmas holiday because it’s about elves.  But not the Santa-work-in-the-toyshop kind.

When I was little, I was convinced I had elves in my head.  Each one was a different color and served a different purpose.  There was the smart one, who helped me be smart, the funny one who helped me be funny, a dumb one, who I am sure I only had in there for amusement, etc.  (What?  Like you didn’t do weird shit?  At least my shit had some logic.)

Remember back in first grade when the teacher would ask all the students to put on their Thinking Caps?  And then everyone would mime picking up some sort of silver metal knight helmet (that’s how I pictured them) and plopping it on his/her head?

WELL.  I didn’t need such a thing!  I HAD ELVES!  Putting on a Thinking Cap was redundant and, quite frankly, lavish in my case.  So, when the teacher said, “Ok, everyone, put on your Thinking Caps!” I’d sit there with a smug look on my face, hands unmoving on my desk while all the other non-elved idiots slapped fake helmets on their heads.

And I’d think, “These silly people.  They’re only smart with a Thinking Cap on and they RARELY have a Thinking Cap on, while I have my elves ALL. THE. TIME.  I win.”

White the teacher waited for everyone to helmet-up, I would hope beyond hope that she would see me sitting there, defiant in my stillness and question me.  I wanted her to ask, “Liza, why are you not putting on a Thinking Cap?” with a tone suggesting I was doing something I shouldn’t be, all so that I could reply with, “I don’t need one.  I have ELVES.”

And then I would get to explain my head elves and I would be the envy of every kid in my class.  They would all want head elves, but they couldn’t have them because if one didn’t automatically HAVE head elves, one could not ACQUIRE head elves.  You were born with ‘em or you weren’t.  And I was born WITH ‘em.

(Is anyone questioning why I got called “weird” a lot when I was younger?)

My grandmother kept a diary of sorts of her time with me for about the first four or five years of my life.  I knew she talked about the elves somewhere so I have been searching and searching and FINALLY found the sections.

I was four when I first told her I had elves in my head that talked me.  My grandmother says in the diary that this did not surprise her because she, too, had “friendly elves” when she was little (who new head elves were genetic?).  I told her I had 18 of them – apparently surpassing her elfin number by a lot.

She also speaks of a time when we were at a public pool and there were some “Japanese girls” swimming around and I tried to explain my elves to them, even going so far as to OPEN MY MOUTH SO THE ELVES COULD WALK OUT.  I’m sure that went well with the Japanese girls.

Later that same year, on another trip out to see my grandmother, I informed her that I had no more elves except for the DUMB one.  Lovely.  While I do recall that, I also recall letting them all back in for some reason.  Actually, I think I let a FEW of them back in.  Enough so that I didn’t need a Thinking Cap in my early school years, anyway.

I don’t have my elves now and haven’t in quite a long time.  If elves ARE genetic, though, I hope my daughter gets them. J

Comments

[Amy]

I didn't have elves but I DID have and imaginary friend named Pepe. And sometimes he'd bring his friends along to play.

[spokeit]

You're right- at least yours had logic! My shit didn't make ANY sense!

[Liza]

Haha! I try to use logic as my argument to everything.

[Liza]

I love that his name was Pepe!