Today, our monthly Amazon shipment arrived. Inside, a few books for me, and Disney’s most recent release of “Alice in Wonderland.” Lou and I watched after naptime.

Even as a critical adult, I am still enchanted by this movie. I would classify it as one of Disney’s best, and certainly most underrated. Of course it is based on the book by Lewis Carroll, that I have read as well, but Disney managed to do something very unique with Carroll’s classic. The music, for one: “Of Cabbages and Kings”, where the baby oysters learn, the hard, final way, that a walrus must not be trusted, no matter how charming, and “Golden Afternoon,” with it’s bread and butterflies, and dog and caterpillars. I mustn’t forget the smoking caterpillar, and the dog, with a broom as his head, that sweeps poor Alice’s path right from under her. Simply delight after delight. The novel characters held Lou’s attention as well. Alice is a far cry from Dora, after all.

But I couldn’t help but be taken back by the movie. Back to my eleventh year, that I spent in a new school, and tracked into a gifted/ talented class. I mention this not to brag of my eleven year old genius, but because it is relevant to my story. It was a hard year.

I didn’t fit into my new class the way I had at my old school. My old school was on the less affluent side of town, and welcomed most of the “country” kids. There I had been self-confident, always assured and A. Life was easy. At the new school, most of the kids already knew each other in the small class. Most importantly, almost all of them were affluent, according to local standards. It was a blow to my self esteem – I suddenly felt that my clothes were not good enough; I suddenly realized that money made a difference. The class work involved real effort on my part – another blow. I have very few good memories. My best memory was sitting at lunch time with my friend Sara, now in another class, conspiring to make t-shirts emblazoned with “I’d rather be at Jones.” Jones was our old school, and weren’t we witty?

That year, our class put on a production of “Alice in Wonderland.” It was an exciting prospect, and I had settled on the part I would have – the white rabbit. I dreamed of the white rabbit. I sent abundant hints to the teacher that I needed to be the white rabbit. But I wasn’t the only person who coveted the white rabbit. We had auditions, and the teacher decided on parts. I didn’t get the part. She gave me my consolation prize – the March Hare. Can you believe it is still a disappointment to me?

I don’t doubt that the girl who got the part did a better job than I would have. Her mother sewed for her a special rabbit costume, with a big pocket watch and a polka dot vest. Her parents were rather doting; her mother came to every class event, and was probably president of the PTA, or something like that. Her father was a lawyer and the family had four Mercedes’. So what chance did I have, when she had parents pushing her, supporting her, and following the minutiae of her school life? Though my family is now comfortably in the middle class, 20 years ago it was a different story – it was a struggle. I didn’t have the advantages, I didn’t have a personal acting coach of a mother- I had a pair of wire bunny ears left over from Halloween. The deck was stacked.

I don’t know what conclusion to draw from this story. I don’t blame my classmate for doing a better audition than me and getting the part. I don’t blame her family for being privileged, and I don’t blame my family either. I guess it’s just life – sometimes it’s unfair, some people get an easier time of it. It is a comfort to me that I would no longer feel disadvantaged next to my former classmates. I have perhaps had to play catch-up, but here I am – educated, secure, with a bright future. It is a comfort as well, to know that my son will grow up with some advantages I didn’t have. And the greatest comfort is that the experience did nothing to sour me on the magic of Alice. Her Wonderland can still make me dream.

I forgot about those tshirts! Even now, there are certainly still days that "I'd rather be at Jones."

It was the last golden year of childhood.

We could still have the tshirts made up...