One Brief Shining Moment

005. 𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬

July 12th, 1963

I remained quiet for most the dinner that followed, careful to only say a few words every now and again. The President would catch my gaze every once and a while, but I was careful not to attract too much attention to myself again after the major social blunder I had just caused. No one seemed to pay any mind to my sudden silence, everyone back into the flow of their own conversations.

This had only confirmed my thoughts from days prior: no one cared much about me.

I don't know why I kidded myself into thinking I would be met with much enthusiasm for my unorthodox remark. After all, my brothers and I inhabited a self-contained world, where nearly every phase of our lives was mapped out for us, defined by the expectations and rules of our so-called class. We bowed and curtsied as children, and we always rose when an adult or someone senior to us walked into the room. We were taught that every kind gesture always required a thank-you note in return. We heeded the implicit agreement that politics or religion was never openly discussed, for fear of causing offense. Money was a taboo topic; it was distasteful to mention how much one made or spent on anything, and wealth was definitely not something to be flaunted.

There was a rhyme and a rhythm to life in high society, and it was not to be deviated from.

I had demonstrated from a young age that this pre-determined path of life was not something I greatly enjoyed. I wanted to go climbing and sailing with the boys, learn about great thinkers and theorists, not how to paint flowers on stretched canvas or singing sweet melodies. My father had always been lenient with me on such matters, chalking it up to me being the only girl in a house full of boys. But Evangeline detested my boyish behavior, and did her best to squash it out of me with brute force. She would force me to sit in the drawing room for hours on end, practicing the piano or drawing roses until I cried from frustration. But no matter how hard she tried, I only resisted more. I turned inwards, confining in only my stuffed animals about the injustice I felt I had been dealt. So I made it my mission to prove to everyone that they were wrong about me. I ran the fastest, jumped the highest, out preformed anyone who dared try me. I never let anyone see me cry, especially not Evangeline.

I vowed never show weakness to her again.

I believe that much of these attitude and outlooks came from Father. He was a quiet man, who kept to himself mostly. My brothers and I were constantly reminded that self-reliance was the greatest virtue. We each had a schedule of chores at our house in Georgetown that went beyond making beds and maintaining tidy rooms. My job was to keep the border of the flower garden weeded and neatly trimmed. When major disasters struck, such as a septic field destroyed by the flooding from Hurricane Hazel, we all grabbed shovels and buckets to help Father rebuild it.

Most important in our family was where we went to school. Education was a sacred right in our home, and there was nothing worse than unintelligence or ignorance. It was simply assumed that I would attend one of the prestigious boarding schools that my mother and her siblings attended: Miss Porter's, St. Paul's, St. George's. Education was important to everyone by this point, but this went beyond virtue: Having one of these schools on your résumé was like a shorthand embedded with status and significance. Still, very little people expected me to go to college. It was not a custom yet for most young women of well-to-do families to get a higher education.

I had to fight for that luxury.

No, for woman like Evangeline who had received no further education than boarding school, there was only one lesson of life that matter. It isn't about what you know, it's about who you know. The Social Register, the annually published volume listing prominent families in Virginia, D.C, and Maryland, was a fixture on the antique cabinet in the drawing room. I don't recall Father or Evangeline ever consulting it religiously—not like the comic figure of Sir Walter Elliot at the beginning of Jane Austen's Persuasion, who "never took up any book but the Baronetage"—but it surprised me now to admit how important that book was in their circle.