On mistakes, embarrassment: 'Breathe deeply, and don’t assume the spotlight is on you.'

Recently someone posted on Facebook about Joyce Kilmer and a beautiful poem written in 1913 called "Trees." That post referred to Kilmer as a female poet. I was confused.

In elementary school, I memorized "Trees" for a school assignment. At the top of my poem book, there was a picture of a soldier with a pensive look on his face.

I presumed the soldier was the author, Kilmer, a man. Could I have been mistaken all these years and Joyce Kilmer actually was a female poet?

Google produced a bio of Kilmer, and turns out I had been right all along. Joyce Kilmer is a man. No embarrassment here.

Some embarrassing moments never go away. And, years later when they enter my brain, I tend to get embarrassed again.

In grade school, I was embarrassed twice that I can recall. Once was after I had been subjected to a stark Dorothy Hamill haircut. I did not like it at all, and everyone in class stared at me — I dove underneath a desk.

I took refuge under a school desk another time in the fifth grade. Jane and I were tagged by the music teacher to sing before the whole class. Shaking, I felt the embarrassment creeping up my neck. I fell to the floor and crawled underneath a desk.

Today, I bet Jane does not remember this or even the name of the song. I do. It’s "I Wonder as I Wander," written by John Jacob Niles in 1933. I think that was the tune. Maybe it wasn’t even Jane.

In the seventh grade, girls wore hosiery that was attached by a corset clip or grip to some kind of undergarment.

One day it was so hot in class that I unhooked the clips to remove my stockings and cool off. Just then, a siren signaled a fire drill and we were ushered outside, with my hand holding my stockings up.

All the boys saw my stockings sliding down my legs, and there was nothing to do about it. Did I learn a lesson from this embarrassment? Not really.

In high school journalism class, I removed my stockings and stuffed them in my bag, tossing the corset clips into a box of pencils.

Accidentally, my arm bumped the pencil box, and the garter snaps tumbled to the floor in front of the teacher and students. Yes, another embarrassing moment.

One summer I was taking classes at the nearby college and found out that Mr. Rainwater was head of the school or some department. I knew him earlier as the principal at my middle school.

I dashed to his office to say hello. Hmmm. He didn’t look the same as he used to.

Of course, he was not the Rainwater I had known, and I’d just made a fool of myself.  I ran away — there was no student desk handy.

Back to Facebook, which I now view as a tell-all when mistakes are made. I junk shop and once picked up a decorative architectural piece from a barn somewhere in the wild.

I posted on Facebook how proud I was of this tupelo. What a find.

It took only a matter of seconds for a friend to correct me — on Facebook. Actually, I had acquired a cupola, a nice vintage one.

Too late. I had already outed myself on Facebook.

Embarrassing moments still happen, but I don’t care so much. Or maybe no one is looking anymore.

Google lists several coping mechanisms to help get over being embarrassed.

Laugh about it. Don’t make a scene. Breathe deeply, and don’t assume the spotlight is on you.

Maybe the real embarrassment for me regarding the poem "Trees" was to recite the following line in front of the whole class — A tree whose mouth is firmly pressed against the earth’s sweet flowing breast.  

Yikes, did I really say the breast word?

Andrea Chancellor has more than 20 years in newspaper and magazine journalism, and 20 years in corporate public relations.  

This article originally appeared on Oklahoman: Guest column: Feeling embarrassed? Don't assume spotlight's on you