The Club that would have me as a member (reluctantly)

My ex-husband was an odd fellow.  In addition to this, he was an Odd Fellow.  He was a member of the International Order of Odd Fellows.  I didn't know anything about the IOOF other than he went to a meeting every Wednesday night.  What else did I need to know? 

Well, it turned out that, just as the Kinsmen have the Kinette's, the Oddfellows have the Rebekkas.  So, when my husband became Grand Poobah (not the real title, but I don't know if the title is a secret), he told me that I needed to support him by becoming a Rebekka.  It was still early in our marriage, so I still had the desire to support him.  All I knew about the Odd Fellows was that he was the youngest member, so I assumed I would likely be the youngest Rebekka and they would be thrilled to have me. 

Well, I was right about one thing.  I was going to be the youngest member, however, the process of joining was not what I was expecting.  First of all, I had to submit a formal notice of interest to their executive including my first year of membership dues.  Shortly after, I got something in the mail that I assumed would be my welcome letter.  It actually was a letter informing me that representatives of the membership committee would be coming to my home for my first interview and home study.  I had no choice of the date or time.  Home study?  I wasn't volunteering to adopt a puppy, I wanted to join a club, and in reality, less and less all the time. 

Since I was on maternity leave, the date and time were fine.  I spent the 48 hours prior to this visit sterilizing my home because I had a sense this would be more difficult than any MIL visit.  I made banana bread and was exceedingly proud of this having a new baby and all.  Since the banana bread had nuts, I had bought mini cheesecakes so my committee could have snack options.  I keep informed on current events and, I am adorable!  Bring on the committee, they would be lucky to have me. 

Well, it wasn't the lovely afternoon that I had envisioned.  Four ladies arrived to question me and inspect my home.  Yes, they had a checklist.  I have never been to Turkey but I have heard about the border-crossing separating Europe from Asia.  When I imagine what that would be like, I think it would be easier than my interview.  Four ladies firing questions at me trying to trip me up, which was easy since I didn't know anything about the Rebekkas.  I was embarassed.  After the interview, I tried to find more information but it turns out it is largely a secretive organization. 

I was invited to the next meeting so I assumed I was in.  Again, they needed new members.  But, it turned out, that the meeting was dedicated to the report of the committee on my home visit.  I wasn't allowed to talk.  They covered everything and I wasn't doing well.  They felt disrespected because I bought the mini-cheesecakes.  I should have had respect enough to make home-made snacks.  I had a new baby, they were lucky I wasn't wearing my pyjamas.  Also, I served tea in a coffee mug. Tsk. Tsk.  And speaking of the coffee mugs, why didn't I bring out my fine china for this group?  |Someone suggested that maybe I didn't have fine china and I shouldn't be penalized because I was poor.  Well, what am I doing with my money, then?  I had a career, and although I was on maternity leave, I planned to go back to work.  Could they really expect me to balance my responsibilities as a mother, a worker, and a Rebekka?  I started to wonder what responsibilities would be as a Rebekka.  And, then came, the biggest issue.  I didn't change my name when I got married.  This was a half hour discussion.  I didn't want to become a member of this club at this point, but I would have been humiliated if I didn't get in, and it didn't look promising.  I had a chief critic who was leading the campaign against me, but I was voted in by a margin of one vote.  I was both relieved and scared. 

They assigned me an experienced member to guide me in the traditions and rituals.  Of course, it was my biggest critic.  She would be coming home to the next day for my first lesson.  I was already in so I served the store-bought mini-cheesecakes in my cheap coffee mugs.  The first thing was that I needed a long pink gown.  It had to cover my ankles, my neck, and my arms to cover my wrists.  No slits.  Powder pink.  Sadly, that was the exact description of my prom dress.  It is not as easy as you think to find a powder pink gown with those specificiations.  It is virtually impossible, so you have to pay someone a ridiculous amount of money to have someone make this gown for you. 

Now, I am Catholic so I definitely familiar with standing up, sitting down, kneeling, responding, speaking in chorus, etc, but none of this prepared me for a Rebekka meeting.  Marching, stopping, reciting things on cue, more marching, changing direction.  This is very secretive stuff so I can't reveal any of this to you, but, it also turns out that I couldn't explain it even if I wanted.  My mentor was very disappointed in me.  I didn't know any of the recitations or where to march, etc.  Apparently, I was supposed to just know this by osmosis.  I said I might be able to learn quicker if things were written down somewhere.  Of course, that would be unacceptable.  If I wanted to be a true Rebekka, I had to pick this up on my own.  There were some meetings when we were allowed to wear normal clothes and others where our pink gowns were required.  Apparently, this wasn't random but of course, I had to read minds on this one. 

Finally after five meetings, I was able to be officially initiated or installed or whatever.  Lots of marching and lots of me promising a lot of things but I was finally a real member.  My mentor hugged me. 

Now that I was in like Flynn, I asked a question at post-meeting coffee.  When do we start helping people are what causes do we support?  They looked at me blankly and didn't know what I was talking about.  Like raising money to help community projects, that kind of thing.  Well, that would be a service organization and we are not that.  Well, what the heck were we?  Well, the Oddfellows is a fraternal organization and the Rebekkas is a sisterhood. 

Well, the truth is I had a strong sisterhood already, and they didn't care if I served tea in coffee mugs nor did they make me buy stupid gowns that I would never wear in public. 

There is an old saying that I wouldn't be a member of any club that would have me as a member.  Believe me, I am not knowing the Rebekkas.  It just wasn't for me and it never felt good.  I never felt like I was a positive contributor or that my skills for buying store-bought mini-cheesecakes was recognized.  I didn't want to pretend to be something I wasn't. 

But, it turns out, I learned a valuable lesson about myself.  I am adorable.  I mean, I may not have been a good fit for that club, but that doesn't mean there isn't a club out there that I would fit.  Sometimes corporations can be like a giant club.  A person can have great skills but still not be a good fit for some corporations.  It doesn't mean that either is at fault, it is just a poor fit.  Families can also act like secret clubs and be reluctant to let others in.  That doesn't mean that the family is dysfunctional or that the new person has anything wrong with them.  It just means that it isn't a good fit. 

There are thousands of pink gowns out there.  Find the group that will accommodate the one that is most flattering on you.