Category: Reminiscence and Reflection

I Never Killed My Classmates

My three most powerful memories of junior high:

  • Finding a spot behind the cafeteria building at lunch and sitting there alone so that no one would see me and realize I had no friends to eat with or talk to.
  • Carrying all my books and my dirty gym clothes around with me all day because I couldn’t work the locker and was petrified of asking for help.
  • Walking four miles to school one morning because my dad couldn’t drive me and I couldn’t cope with the fact that no one on the bus was going to let me sit with them.

Reading about the latest high school shooting incidents (a disturbingly common pastime lately) always gets me a bit reflective about my own teen years. Why? Simply because, under slightly different circumstances, I could have been that unpopular, isolated kid doing the shooting.

It wasn’t that I didn’t have many friends in junior high. I could have dealt with that. My problem was that I didn’t have ANY friends, not even of the similarly unpopular “reject” variety. I even felt inadequate even compared to the loser kids on the ABC Afterschool Special; at least they had Kristy McNichol or Leif Garrett on their side.

At school, I didn’t talk to anyone. I didn’t go to after-school events or the mall because I didn’t want everyone to see me by myself. I looked up the phone numbers of classmates I barely knew (and would never call) just to write them down in an address book I was given. I never spoke to anyone first, and only mumbled responses when someone spoke to me. I was embarrassed by my voice, my walk, my clothes, everything.

I often feigned illness for a week at a time, because I just couldn’t cope with school. I thought about suicide, about ways I could make my parents move so I could “start over”, and about any number of ways I could make people notice me in any way at all, especially in a manner which didn’t involve snickering or open taunting.

I’m not sure why some kids turn out so isolated and bitter — and sometimes so angry. I was painfully shy and lacked social skills. I had no talent for sports and was a “brain”. But other kids like this manage at least to find a few like-minded friends. Why didn’t I?

And why did I somehow manage not to kill all my classmates? I hated them and I knew where to find my dad’s gun. But I’d also convinced myself that I was the one with the problem, not my school chums. And frankly, I was a bit of a wimp. I’d never even been in a fistfight. Still haven’t.

But if things had been a little different, who knows what might have happened?

Eventually, I coped by dumbing down a little, by getting in some trouble, and by hanging out with the bad kids. My “in” was smoking and a talent for forging sick notes and hall passes. It’s unfortunate that it had to happen that way, but I don’t regret it. Otherwise, I most likely would have done myself in before my sixteenth birthday.

I’m 36 now. I have friends. I sometimes even engage in social activities. I’m OK now.

But I’m still lacking in social skills and I still spend most of my time alone. I get embarrassed doing things like yelling “back door” when the bus driver doesn’t open it at my stop. I rarely initiate a telephone conversation except with my closest friends or for business purposes. I don’t like crowds, and I’m uncomfortable walking up to a group of people I know for fear I’d be jumping in unwanted.

And I sometimes still feel like a lonely 13-year-old who’s embarrassed that everyone is looking at him and laughing at him for being dorky and all alone. I’m just glad I no longer see this as a reason to kill anyone. Myself included.

I promise to return to my usual sarcastic tone tomorrow. Sorry if this was a bit of a downer…

Credit Cards

I just got my Sears Gold Mastercard in the mail today. Funny thing is, I never REQUESTED a Sears Gold Mastercard. Anyhow, it’s got rental car insurance, so I’ll probably keep it…

I learned a lot about credit cards in my early 20’s. Mainly that I shouldn’t use them unless it’s an emergency or I mail in a check for the amount owed as soon as I get home from wherever I bought whatever I bought…

Speaking of which: did anyone else have a Choice Card back in the 1980s? If so, it probably means that you (a) are over 35, and (b) learned a lot about frustration from trying to find places that accepted the damned thing…

Updated: Yer Humble Host at a Glance.

Rick, 1982

 

Funny how you remember certain bits of sex many years later. Today, I’m remembering one from nineteen years ago. Nineteen years ago today, as it happens.

His name was Rick and he was 25. He was in a fraternity at UNCG and was, of course, wearing a T-shirt from said organization when we met, in a men’s room at Four Seasons Mall in Greensboro. I was 17, and that was one of my few options at the time, the others being the men’s rooms in Belk’s, Penney’s, and Ivey’s. I imagine he had other options but chose not to use any of them.

It was not nasty pig sex (although it was quite entertaining) and it wasn’t even the first time I’d picked someone up in a restroom. But it was sort of a first for me: the first time I picked up someone, went to his house, actually had sex in an actual bed, and then had an actual conversation afterward.

I was so excited. I even took his picture. I imagine this really gave him the creeps; a lovesick 17-year-old taking snapshots after we’d just committed numerous felonies, most of which would be unfairly blamed on him. This may have figured into why he didn’t show up for our next “date” the following Sunday afternoon. I was rather unhappy for the next week.

I saw him again once about a year later, when I too was a student at UNCG. He nodded. That was it. By that time, I had other things on my mind and it didn’t bother me so much. He’d be 44 now, and I’m sure I wouldn’t be much interested in a replay. But I still think about that run-in and how exciting it was at the time.

Y’know, this whole “reflective about sex and romance thing” is most likely going someplace, but it ain’t going there tonight. It’s time for dinner…

Queen of the Desert

Why does it always leave me in such a good mood when I catch Priscilla on TV by accident? I kind of want to go out and make it with an Australian drag queen now. While listening to Abba. Or “Take a Letter Maria”.

It’s also got me thinking about 1994 when I had a boyfriend who was neither Australian nor a drag queen. I’m having this very strange mental picture of the two of us flying up I-5 from LA at 4:00 in the morning, listening to Abba’s greatest hits really loud. It seems strangely comfortable now, but it didn’t at the time. I think I ws pissed about something, probably the fact that we were driving home from LA at 4AM.

But I don’t think I’d mind doing the same thing again right now, albeit maybe with a different companion…

Dinner Party

Christmas dinner party at Kevin and Steve’s last night. I work with Kevin, and Steve is probably the person most responsible for the fact that I now live in San Francisco.

We happened to meet one night in Charlotte in 1987 merely because we were wearing compatible T-shirts. He was sporting the Jesus and Mary Chain on his chest; mine featured something unmentionably embarrassing, but it seemed cool enough at the time. We became friends, he moved here in 1991, and I followed a year later.

Funny how choosing the right T-shirt one evening can change one’s life way off in the future, isn’t it? Maybe I should pay more attention to how I dress…

The Ghost of Christmas Past

The ghost of Christmas past:

Most of my extended family lived pretty close to home, so I grew up with a heavy dose of family for the holidays. The tradition was to spend Christmas Eve with my mom’s side of the family and Christmas night with my dad’s side. My mom’s parents were divorced, so we visited my grandfather and his wife usually on the Saturday after Christmas until he died in 1979.

With my mom’s family on Christmas Eve, we always drew names and the youngest kids would pass out all the presents after dinner. Since I was the youngest of all my cousins, I was pressed into service for for a long time, until my other cousins started spawning their own kids. We usually did all this at my grandmother’s massive house, but the celebration rotated to other houses on occasion.

I remember a few things more than others: devilled eggs, two kinds of stuffing, bizarre cogealed salads, fighting over who got to sit in this one chair which looked like a throne, and sneaking outside to smoke with a few of my my cousins after I was a teenager. And we always drove around town looking at the Christmas lights before going home.

Christmas morning was just for me and my parents. OK, it was pretty much just for me. Later, we started having a late breakfast with my aunt and uncle who lived next door.

On Christmas night, we usually went to Reidsville to see my dad’s people, unless it was our turn to host them. This was a pretty lively gathering, bursting into a collection of Christmas carols and assorted hymns which ran pretty late into the evening. There were always at least two aunts with low-fi tape recorders preserving the whole thing. I wonder if they ever went back and listened to any of those tapes. There were some pretty good singers (my dad can really belt out “Oh Holy Night”) but I can’t imagine that the sound was very good.

With my dad’s family, I learned that people with very bad politics and opinions can still be good people. They had the prejudices of an earlier place and time, but they were generally good, loving, moral people, many of whom devoted their lives to helping other people, even the ones they didn’t particularly care for.

I also had my first experience with “gaydar” at one of these gatherings. When I was about 15, I sneaked out to have a cigarette with my cousin’s new husband. He was sort of cute, and as we talked, I just sort of knew instinctively that he liked boys. And, a few years later, he was indeed one of the first faces I saw in the local queer bar. He and my cousin were amicably divorced by this time. No, I didn’t sleep with him.

At some point we’d always call my aunt and uncle in Florida, everyone taking a turn at the phone. Only one of my aunts ever seemed particularly worried about how high we ran her phone bill. Afterward, we ate a little more for the long journey (20 miles) back to Greensboro. I always hated that drive back because it meant Christmas was pretty much over.

The Saturday celebration with my grandfather and his wife Fleeta was always a little anti-climactic. I never felt quite comfortable at their house in the country with the well water and the black and white TV. I often got the feeling my grandfather had the same reaction. But Fleeta did make an amazing strawberry pie, and I’d kill for her recipe now.

The celebrations are a lot more muted now. There are fewer kids around, particularly on my dad’s side of the family, which hasn’t reproduced well. My grandparents have been gone for years, the last one dying in 1990. I’ve lost one aunt and two uncles in the past few years. The generation which pulled these celebrations together won’t last a lot longer, and I doubt my cousins and I will really keep the traditions alive.

I Loved the Early 1990s

So sometimes when I’m feeling even more lethargic than usual (which is a pretty frightening thing), I pop in some random video from my collection and realized that I’ve taped some strange shit over the years.

Tonight’s choice was MTV’s “Buzz Weekend” from sometime in 1992. It featured significant chunks of Nirvana, Pearl Jam, the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Live. There were moments from when Steve Isaacs was still adorable and still a VJ, and (maybe strangest of all) an entire episode of “MTV Sports” with Dan Cortese (remember him?) and Marky Mark, not to mention special skateboarding guests The Beastie Boys.

I sure enjoyed those “grunge years”. It was one of the only times in my life when scruffy long-haired boys were in the mainstream rather than (pardon the expression) the other stream. And of course, you all know that scruffy long-haired boys are my favorite flavor.

The music was pretty good too, if a bit uneven. It’s a pity the final result was the complete corporatization and homogenization of “alternative” which followed shortly after, about the time Singles was released. Even so, I liked it too, just because it’s the only movie I’ve ever seen which had a city planner as its main character.

Funny. This started out as a journal entry about how Jim Morrison was the sexiest rock star ever. Look where it went. Well, he was, anyhow. Maybe I’ll write about that tomorrow…

Sperm

Funny. Thanks to Ron for that one.

A friend and I were discussing sperm yesterday via email (it made sense at the time) and he asked “is it weird that I often view semen as some sort of awful venom?” It started me thinking that there’s a whole generation of Sodomites just slightly younger than me who, given recent world history, may very well have grown up thinking this.

I guess I’m part of the last generation which started out its sex life thinking it was just fine and dandy to spooge in the mouth, up the butt, or wherever else was handy. Of course, things changed pretty quickly for most of us about 1983 or 1984. And people just a year or two younger than me came out into a world of condoms, “on me not in me”, and all the rest. It was the default condition for them, and significantly less behavioral modification was involved. I think.

It’s a shame in some ways, that so many people have been conditioned to view semen as toxic. But you could argue that it’s a necessary shame, I guess.