I am a zelig. Some days it’s hard to tell which pieces of me are mine. It used to be kind of an embarrassing habit, but now that I have accepted my chameleon tendencies, I realize that it is less copycat and more adaptation.

I was living in Scotland during my parent’s divorce the first time I became aware of my superpower. Mom moved, with my brother and I, to her parent’s Glasgow flat taking the concept of running home to the extreme and putting at least four thousand miles between us and our father. She had moved us to California for a few years, but now she was serious. At about nine, I had only been in my new foreign school for a few days and in the country 2 weeks. Making friends had been easy since the kids ignorantly found my American citizenship a hot commodity.  It was nice to make friends so easy, but also embarrassing to be the playground show and tell item.

 “Tell ‘em wha you call chips,” they would ask.

 “French Fries,” I would answer in my young Texan drawl.

 “OK. Now tell ‘em wha you call crisps.”

 “Chips.” I answered with a shy smile as they erupted with amazed laughter.

Even as a kid their age, I was amazed by how long this game could go on with no one tiring. Most kids would enjoy having a power that could intrigue and amaze the cool kids, cute boys and even teachers, but I was uncomfortable. With the exception of standing in front the TV to sing America the Beautiful and gauge my ability to impress my father more than the Vikings could, I never liked having all eyes on me.

For me this was easy to cure: On my 4th day to attend Blackfriars Primary School, I became Scottish. My Scottish brogue was as thick and convincing as any of them. I dropped out half of my vowels and squished my words into less syllables and in an instant my dialect transformed to a confident rolling speech that said “aye” instead of “yes” and “canny” instead of “can’t.” I was so convincing that Sharon Stit (Stitty) decided that I had faked my American background and challenged me to a fight. Within moments I developed into a very tough and mouthy Scottish lassie that was ready to fight her back and we were friends straight away.

Since then I have picked up little pieces of people along the way and it isn’t limited to linguistics. Occasionally I will absorb a habit from an acquaintance if I find it worthy, but sometimes I’m completely oblivious to the things I sop up. Everyone does it, I suppose. After I broke it off with my first sleepover boyfriend, I realized instead of keeping his music or clothes (which I probably did), I held on to his habit of grinding his teeth in his sleep and it took months to get over that (the habit, not the boy).

This ability always helped me in my career. A true zelig doesn’t just imitate, but can actually fill in gaps. They can be what they want to or need to be without a blueprint. Therefore; if there is a need to be, I am. After working in the same physical therapy department for a couple of years in college, it became apparent that we needed help in the front office. I saw the gap and filled it. This happened in most of the jobs I held since I was fifteen. In my early 20s, I had decided to become a web mistress and attended a class to hone my already wicked skills. The teacher was a drone reading from a book and on the second day, I got up and left. On my way out, I told the lady who ran the program that I wanted a refund and that she needed a better teacher. I told her that even I could be a better teacher than that and I left her my number. I was shocked when she called, but within days (maybe hours) a metamorphosis occurred and I became the best corporate trainer that facility had. Within months I was effectively teaching corporate America (or corporate Amarillo) how to use programs and was often requested for on site training. I kind of miss that job (and that sweet paycheck).

 I can consciously contribute this ability to survival technique. Considering that at age seven, I had to teach myself to be a mother to my 2-year-old brother for literally days at a time while our actual mother was sporadically on hiatus. It isn’t a sob story though, just an honest observation. These habits were acquired in a natural selection setting (eat or be eaten), but they grew into something less dire and they make me who I am. Literally.

Only a few people have really picked up on it over the years. On some days, my husband can actually guess which person I have spent my afternoon with based on my accent. I cannot always turn it off or control it, and I can’t do it on demand (so don’t ask for any Will Shatner or you’ll be dissapointed). Sometimes when I do something, like today when I sat criss-cross applesauce in front of my puppy and started popping the cork with my thumb tucked into my cheek, I get curious as to who it came from. I wonder which person I am that is not me. Luckily, I surround myself with remarkable people – so take your pick and I’m in good shape.