I have this clear mental image in my mind of a moment in my second grade classroom. Normally, my memory is pretty iffy. My memories don't play out like scenes from a movie; I can't remember details so specifically, but this one memory stands out in my mind quite well.

I was seven. My mom had just found a small bald spot on the right side of my head near the back. It was about the size of a dime, maybe a little bigger. I remember my parents telling me that it was normal, but it didn't disguise their worried whispers and the discreet visits they scheduled to dermatologists. I hadn't known it was alopecia then. My mom insisted I wear my hair down to cover the spot and so I did.

I had really long hair back then and I remember the weather was warm. People don't think Northern California gets too hot in the spring and summer, but indeed it does. The Sacramento Valley burns up quite quickly in fact. On this particular day at this particular moment, my hair was down. The classroom was silent because it was "quiet work time" which basically translates to the teacher needing personal time so she gives us an assignment and we work quietly for 30 minutes. The subject was spelling, I believe.

It was nearing the end of the day and it was getting really warm. We were on the second floor of a three-story building which had no air conditioning because it was built in the 1800s (my grade school was the oldest private elementary school in Sacramento, I believe). It was getting warm so I decided to tie my hair up, forgetting about that bald spot which had started to grow during the weeks after it was first discovered. I pulled my hair back, tied it up, and went back to writing words.

It was a few minutes before I started to hear whispering. I looked up and saw some of the boys whispering to one after another and looking my way. My best friend at the time tapped me on the shoulder and whispered, "You have a bald spot. Ebony is making fun of you and telling everyone."

Ebony was "that girl." I'm sure every class always has one. She was the type of girl who was not happy until all of the boys were paying attention to her and all of the girls were jealous. She was also the girl who seemed to really dislike me for reasons I was never really sure of. People suggested she was jealous, seeing as how she seemed to dislike many of the girls in class. I didn't consider myself "popular" by any means. At the time, I had a good group of friends, I got along well with the boys, and I was one of the best students in my class of 30 kids. Was she jealous? I don't know, but I do know that she was ruthless when it came to my alopecia.

I quickly untied my hair as the teacher, who was unaware of the subject of their whisperings, hushed everyone. I tried to get back to my work and pretend like none of it had happened but I still felt like everyone was watching me. I kept telling myself not to cry even though I could feel tears coming on. I was so relieved with the bell rang and signaled an end to the day. I never told my parents about it and nobody seemed to mention it again until my hair began falling out at a rapid pace two years later. Then, everyone decided to mention it, only this time, behind my back.

Acceptance has always been a difficult thing for me to deal with. Despite the years I spent learning to recover from the judgmental eyes of others, I feel as if not being accepted by others is a deep-rooted fear I have that is near impossible to get rid of. Has that made me so afraid to step out into the world? Starting college last year scared me enough and I saw myself awkwardly declining invitations to join clubs in fear of not being accepted, as silly as it sounds. It's strange because I KNOW that it's not what other people think that matters.

Maybe instead of trying to get over this fear of rejection is to not try and fix everything, but rather run headfirst into it. Starting this second year of college I will go out and take more risks, no matter how strong the fear is. I'm lucky enough to have the opportunity of starting over again (long story) and I'm going to try to do it right this time: Without the fear.