Don’t Worry About Me

Friday, 2 April 2010 at 4:21 am Pacific USA Time.

Today, I'm reminded of a story I like to tell about a fight I had with my mother MANY times when I was a teenager.

I was that weird teen who never went anywhere. Didn't "hang out." Didn't party. Wasn't doing drugs, smoking, drinking, or doing anything sexual. I mostly stayed in my room, listening to new wave and new romantic music, and working on my Apple IIe. Playing with tape recorders and stereo equipment. Playing my cheesy keyboards. :)

I liked to dress new wave and new romantic. I was inspired by a lot of early 80s videos. Sadly, I still had a giant perm and hadn't discovered a tweezer. But it was the 80s. And my look wasn't even that severe. Most days, it was giant hair, no makeup, Chuck Taylors, ripped jeans, and maybe a concert t-shirt. Other days, it was giant hair, no makeup, little black boots, black pants, a men's-style white button-down shirt, and a suit jacket that no longer fit my father. Never did the thick eyeliner thing. Never did the Judas Priest thing. Never did the pale goth thing. Never did the Madonna thing.

My mother often picked fights with me about my look. I even remember her crying once or twice. I used to tell her she was totally illogical, and she needed to appreciate that I was in the house to have that fight. I asked her to consider some family friends. To change names to protect someone who won't expect to be written about in my blog, let's say I went to school with a girl my age named Jessica Jones, and let's say her parents were Bob and Lois Jones. Names changed.

I used to tell my mother to go call Bob and Lois, and ask them where Jessica is tonight… because they don't know. They don't know that she's out there smoking, drinking, and on her back. I literally said that to my mother. Jessica Jones might come home drunk. Abused. Pregnant. And here's me. Standing here, having this stupid conversation because you don't like my clothing. I used to tell her that she should appreciate that I had a 94 average in school, and was going to go to any college I wanted to… and where would Jessica Jones end up?

Oh, my mother cried and cried over my clothes. She felt they were masculine. Well, that's not very scary, now is it. And I'm home. Name another teenager that never went out, never partied, never drank, never came home drunk. Never had the cops at our door.

My mother didn't know how to pick her battles. She decided everything was worth worrying about… even though all other signs pointed to me being a bizarrely good kid in no trouble. 

I appreciate when people are worried about me. I know there are people who care about me, and want me to be happy and well. But it'll definitely go better when everybody picks their battles, and worries when there is something to worry about. Like high school, here I am, sitting home all the time. Working. Playing cheesy keyboards. Not smoking, not drinking, not doing drugs, and sadly, not having sex. :) 

And 22 years after those fights, I'm still really not worry material. I never became a statistic. Never was an addict or alcoholic. Never got pregnant. Was never raped or forced into sex. Was never attacked, mugged, kidnapped, or robbed. Never beaten up by a boyfriend or husband. Never had a flat tire on an abandoned road in the dark. :) Never beat up or abused anybody else. Still have never done drugs or tried smoking. I probably have 6 alcoholic drinks in a year. So far this year, I've had two half-drinks (threw the other half out), and both of those were at SXSW.

Nobody should be worried about me. I'm the good kid.

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Categories: Just An Observation

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