Gina Harris's Blog, page 58

I never thought of myself as a Disney princess...

... and if I were going to, I identify most with Belle, because books!

However, Twitter discourse on King Triton has led me to have some new thoughts and remember some old ones.

The Little Mermaid came out in November 1989. I didn't see it until years later, but I seem to remember the trailer ending with Ariel saying "I love you, Daddy." 

Hearing that almost a year into my father not speaking to me punched me right in the heart, but then I had that moment. Just another year and a half later he said he wanted to start over, and I hugged him and felt a flood of happiness and said "I love you."

I don't specifically remember him saying that he loved me back, and of course "starting over" meant not talking about or dealing with or apologizing for anything that had previously happened. All of that perhaps makes it less surprising that the ceasefire didn't last.

People on Twitter have some very strong feelings about whether or not King Triton was an abusive parent, and that had come up recently. Invading Ariel's personal space and destroying all of her treasures is generally the argument for him being abusive, but a lot of people will defend it based on humans being indeed dangerous, plus he sacrificed himself at the end.

Although it took me a while to get to watching the movie, I have now seen both the direct-to-video sequel and prequel. In the first one, we learn that yes, Ariel's mother died because of contact with humans, but it was music-related, so Triton banned music, leading to underground music clubs. Eventually he saw the error of his ways, so that all of his daughters are practicing musical numbers that Ariel messes up because of her traipsing off after humans, another thing to control. Then, in the sequel, a threat to Ariel's daughter Melody is dealt with by walling off the ocean, thus cutting Ariel off from all of her mer-family. 

Whatever the problem, the solution is always more isolation, and more control.

There is a lot of fear; I can feel some compassion for that.

Let me digress again. I started a Talented and Gifted program in 4th grade. I think it was relatively new, and they were experimenting a lot. The next two years the program expanded, but that year it was just a handful of students in one classroom at the junior high. 

The student teacher working with the program arranged some interviews, probably for a public access channel, and I participated. I know my answers during the interview were rambling, but what I really remember is driving back and talking about different things. I don't quite remember the context, but I remember asking if there was such a thing as emotional abuse. She said there was, but it was harder to identify than physical abuse, and I think she also mentioned neglect.

I do not specifically remember her trying to dig for any details on whether she should be worried; it was more respectfully engaging a curious child, which I was. Even if she had done some digging, there was nothing actionable.

Recently a friend has commented that my father was abusive and that it was not my fault. I know the intent was reassurance, and it does mainly work for that. It is still a little uncomfortable accepting the label. 

I mean, he could have been worse.

He could have been better too.

I know his family had its own problems. That didn't help, but that leaves me right back to the previous two points. Being worse and better were both possibilities.

I attribute a lot of the problems to his inability to be happy with himself, but the other factor that is relevant here is that need to be in control and in charge. That is so relevant to toxic masculinity.

One reason we could never win as children is that if we did not do well, he was unhappy with us for that, but if we did excel at something it could lead to him feeling threatened, and would bring some kind of cut.  

None of that is really about being the protector, but if you think providing for and protecting your family requires being in charge, maybe it seems that way, or maybe it just seems like your due. You deserve their fealty for all that you do, including the harm.

That is dominator culture. It isn't really good for the men, even though they are on top. My father has not gotten a lot of happiness out of this.

The first 17 years of my life have taken more than 30 to unravel, but I'm still doing better than him. 

And I still reject it being a contest.

Disowning scoreboard

Obviously, I was the first of my siblings to be disowned. I was not the last, and it wasn't even the last time I was disowned.

Because it was hard to feel welcome when my father was not speaking to me, I tried to stay in Eugene after my first couple of terms at college. Everything went wrong, from not making enough at my job to a roommate stealing food and not paying utilities to the IRS telling me that I did my taxes wrong and they were now charging me interest on what I owed.

My nearby cousins were going up to visit for the day, and I rode along, intending to lay low. However, after two and a half years, my father said he would like to start over. 

There was no apology, but I took it, and it was a huge relief. I felt such love for him then. The other time when it was that clear was when he left my mother. Suddenly people who had always said they liked our father were saying that he was an odd duck. It's not that both weren't true, but I had a clear picture of how much he was cutting himself off from everything, and even though he was still alive, I grieved for him.

That also directly led to all of the other disownings, but it took awhile. 

Because I believed that any additional tension would lead to an irreparable rupture, I had always tried to be extra considerate. Mainly this meant that if I saw an article that I thought would interest him, I sent it along.

It was remarkably stressful. I remember that even when he would send replies to that, and it was almost certain that the message from him was simply a thank you, I would see that I had mail from him and a knot would form in my stomach as I would think "What now?"

Getting along with him was difficult. I remember the last time he drove me to Eugene; he would say something and I would say something building on it, agreeable, and he would still contradict it.

There was great strain when he was not speaking to me, but there was also some relief.

He left in October 1995, my senior year in college. It was my first time attending fall term, and Mom called crying right before I was going to leave for the homecoming game. I still went, but those next few weeks were hard. Staying in school was hard.

We were all struggling, but getting along. There were some visits, especially with my younger sisters as they completed their driving lessons. Three or four years later he moved to The Dalles. We were thinking we should try and visit him, but that was far and he was living with someone whom he hadn't really admitted existed (though we knew).

While we were waffling on that, he sent a message to everyone else angry at them for not visiting and casting them off.  I was not included, because I was the only one who had made an effort. I believe he alluded to my difficulty getting out there (Tri-Met does not service The Dalles). I don't remember how plainly stated that was, but I will give him this credit: he never criticized me for not driving after that.

Our brother wrote back telling him off, and never dealt with him again. Therefore, he is the one who has been disowned the least, with only one occurrence.

Scores: 1 disownment each for five children.

I helped forge a reconciliation with my sisters, pointing out some of the difficulty and arranging a time to visit. As sisters we went, and it could have been worse. We were lucky that one of us fell getting out of the car (it was icy), and that helped break the tension. She wasn't happy about it, but she was a hero.

I think it took six months for the next angry missive to come, because one visit en masse hardly demonstrated filial piety. I brokered reconciliation again, and we eventually worked out more of a regular relationship, always tense, often with sudden demands, but apparently at least good enough. 

Scores: 1 disownment each for my brother and I, 2 for each of my sisters.

That got us through to about the ten year mark of him leaving. 

He had preemptively left one job that might have laid him off (but probably would have given him at least another two years) to try various bad ideas. While usually holding some kind of job, he was running through his pension for supplemental income. He was still married to my mother, and collecting social security as a couple but also still making the house payment, giving her and us a home.

Because they were still legally a couple, he needed her signature to remove the last amount from the pension. He did not say that, and he didn't send the whole document that needed signing, but it was pretty clear. And fine, it was his pension, except that when he was done with that he was surely going to target the house next. That was scary. 

We consulted a lawyer, who recommended being straightforward and asking if he wanted the house. We could try and sort all that out amicably. 

BOOM!

Now I was disowned with my sisters. In many ways the messaging was the same -- packages and letters will be returned unread -- but the part about us only caring about his money and what we could get from him was new. Also, I was no longer a neutral party who could broker a peace.

I cared about him, but protecting Mom was more important. If he was going to be volatile, even attempting to contact him was risky.

The initial visit with the lawyer was on Valentine's Day, but it was actually March when we filed, and things took a while. I think the main reason he signed over the house to Mom was to avoid spending more time (and disclosing more) on discovery, but that worked for us.

I had told myself that after that was secure, I would reach out to him, but it would have to be for a better relationship, where I wasn't always having to avoid setting him off. 

That probably wouldn't have been possible anyway, but when everything was signed and completed, I found that I was too tired to reach out to him. I just didn't have it in me.

Score: 1 disownment for my brother, 2 for me, 3 for my sisters.

(Though if we are making it a contest, my first one should count for extra.)

My older sister may still come up with a fourth, because she is in touch with him. He was working in China when there was an earthquake, and she reached out. 

I could have. I got an announcement for his 50th high school reunion, and I scanned it in and e-mailed it to him, because I thought he should have it. He did write saying he already had gotten it through another source, but I did get a wedding announcement from him when he remarried.

Well, "wedding announcement" is an overstatement. It was an e-mail with a date and an attached photo of them holding the marriage license. 

I believe if I had written back, we could be in touch too. I didn't. That wasn't even to avoid the tension;  the real problem was that I could not think of anything good to say. "I hope you treat this one better than you treated the last one!" is not exactly "Congratulations!" And I knew he wouldn't, and he didn't. He is now twice-divorced.

That's without counting all of the divorces from his kids.

But I did still ultimately make a choice -- even if I let my exhaustion make the choice -- that I was done.

That was a step, though of course it was more complicated than that.

Driven

Weird tidbit about me: for a long time I never noticed anything about cars. Someone would give me a ride, and my sisters would ask what they drove, and I had no idea, not even the color. (I would remember if it were a truck instead of a car.) This could be inconvenient when you were trying to find someone in a parking lot.

I am better about it now, but what makes it more weird is that I have such vivid mental images of all of the family cars before my father disowned me. 

While this whole thing is focused on memories, the absence of memories in some areas has proven pretty telling as well.

I would say this clash did more damage to my relationship with driving than my relationship with my father.

When I say we had been clashing more, I can remember at least two other instances in the year before where I had annoyed him and gotten the silent treatment for a few days. With one of those, it was again quite clear that he wanted to hit me, though he didn't, possibly because once again there was another person there.

I also remember a minor conflict about feeling that he didn't care about my PSAT score.

For the PSAT, SAT, and ACT, I was in the top one percentile on all of them. He was already not speaking to me when I took the other two, though, so this was about the PSAT. 

I know we were never big at praise but I felt like it deserved some mention. After being upset, I kind of did get some recognition, but even when he did not get outright angry, I know I was always irritating. 

As I type this, I think I understand my hangup where I always worry about being annoying.

As we had been having more conflict, it was kind of weird that I accepted this fight with my father as so final. It must have been because of him cornering me alone in the kitchen the next day to tell me how disgusted he was with me. Previous times there was conflict, and then there was just silence for a few days. This time, he wanted to deliver the killing blow. Mission accomplished!

I had a few bad dreams early on, mainly on the theme of adoption: either that I was not really his, and not accepted that way, or that he had given me up, so I had been rejected that way. The most haunting dream was one where he had stabbed me, and I was lying on the floor, just outside the kitchen. The phone was right there but he had unplugged it, so I could not call for help. 

You're thinking the aftermath of a painful physical wound in the same place where a painful psychological wound was received seems pretty straightforward. Yes, but not having the ability to get help made it worse. Realistically, that part was not really new. My training that no one wanted to deal with my distress went way back. He had played a role in that, though that was not exclusively him.  

When I first found out about Adverse Childhood Experiences, I did go through and score myself. The only thing that I counted as an event was my father disowning me at 17. Another year, and I would have been safely past the cutoff, except that there was that foundation.

(That is not to discredit anything about the ACE study, which I find very helpful; there's just always more. I would be interested in studies on trauma occurring between legal maturity at 18 and brain maturity at 25.)

This is why I said that the last really formative trauma was the thing that happened when I was 14. Here, at just a few days shy of 17, it was mainly confirmation of what I had already always known: there was something wrong about me and I could not rely on my father.

This may have been the first time where I was pretty sure that it was not all my fault, though. I knew that it shouldn't have been so necessary for him to be in control of me. Also, since he had said I did not have to drive with him right away, he should have stuck to that, but his ego was more important than my needs. As much as I was in the habit of suppressing my anger and taking all of the blame on me, I did still kind of know. 

I did quit McDonald's, possibly unreasonably, but a short while later I got a new job at K-Mart. I kept up with my extracurricular activities. I did not throw myself into academics, though that would probably have been more productive. 

Also, the extracurricular that became the most important was the one that kept me busy meeting other people's needs.

I went through a phase of over-preparing, which mainly meant not traveling light. Once for an away game with a longer drive I had four Walkmans on me, just in case some of the players wanted one. I also had a music book so I could use one of the practice rooms at the school while I was waiting for it to be time to leave -- because I was not going home in between -- and some homework books. I kept materials with me for doing homework far more often than paid off.

Concentration was probably an issue for a while.

I don't think the preparedness was in case something bad happened; it was too late for that. That was about trying to be everything for everyone, and also always having something to do. I may not have wanted to spend too much time alone with my thoughts.

I maintain that I was already on my way to that, but what had started off as nervousness about driving transformed into a much worse fear and a deep shame. 

It is better, but I still don't drive.

Related posts: 

https://sporkful.blogspot.com/2021/02/failure-to-communicate.html 

https://sporkful.blogspot.com/2021/02/wild-abandon.html

Thanks Dad

Once again I feel really irritated recapping one of these life-forming events. 

Initially I thought it was frustration that going over these before still hasn't been enough, but I think another potential reason is that I haven't been over these since I let myself start feeling anger. Maybe that is why the previous rounds weren't enough.

It makes me angry that this happened. It makes me angry that it affected me so much. I did not think I was currently angry with my father, but here is anger. It might be old, but it is still accessible.

Here we go.

I like symmetry. Because my birthday is on the 17th, my 17th birthday was the one I was looking forward to the most: 17 on 17. There are ways in which 16 or 18 could have made more sense, but what's the point of being a big nerd if weird things don't interest you?

I only mention that because it made it worse. 

Previously, I remembered it as happening on the day before my birthday, but this happened on Saturday, and the internet tells me my birthday that year was on a Tuesday. I remember that next morning that was not my birthday really clearly, and then there must have been a lot of stuff that was uncomfortable that I don't remember at all.

I did not want to practice driving with my father. We had been clashing more as I got older, and I was already scared enough of driving without adding my fear of him to that.

My fear of driving largely had to do with the understanding that I could cause harm if I messed up. I could hit something. 

My fear of my father was largely this tension about things you couldn't do and areas you couldn't cross, but also it was cultivated. He liked being scary. There was a line he repeated from a Cosby record all the time: "The old gunfighter, Jack."

I had completed driver's ed already, and I'd had a fair amount of practice. I still felt very nervous about it, which is probably why I had been 16 for almost an entire year and was still not licensed. Obviously I had a lot of work and activities going on, but also, practicing with my father just seemed like a terrible idea.

I know this hurt his ego -- he thinks he is a good teacher (I disagree) -- but initially he agreed that I could practice with Mom for a while before I started driving with him. 

When I tried my first session with Mom, the car wouldn't start. I'm guessing it was vapor lock, but there was an aborted practice session. 

The Saturday before my birthday, Dad wanted me to go around the block. It did not seem like a good idea, but neither did disagreeing with him. I got in the car and he stayed on the outside, and this time it started right up. Great. 

It was parked on the street. I drove past three houses to the top of the cul-de-sac, but was having trouble navigating the circle, and could not get around this other car parked on the street. 

I don't know how relevant this was, but all of my other previous experience had been in an automatic, and the Colt had a manual transmission. It was definitely jerkier. Anyway, I hit the car. 

There's one fear.

I wanted out of the car. Dad slammed the door back and I know he was going to hit me, but people were coming out of houses. The man whose car I hit was very nice, there was no damage, but I got out of there and walked back home and closed myself in my room. I successfully avoided my father for the rest of the day.

If that were all that had happened, I think I could have gotten over it. 

The next morning I got up early and Dad found me in the kitchen and told me that he couldn't believe how stupid I was, and that he was ashamed of me. 

From then on, he just didn't talk to me. That lasted from January 1989 to July 1991. 

That border had been crossed, and that's what was on the other side.

On the plus side, I never had to drive with him again. That was successfully off the table. 

On the minus side, the hangups I had about driving got a lot worse, and it was a deep source of shame as well.

I used to feel a lot of guilt about the strain it put on my parents' marriage, because although he did not try to throw me out then, when I went away to college he wanted to turn my room into an office, and Mom didn't let him.

I feel less guilt about that now because as far as we can tell his second affair had started already by this time. I think the long-term cheating was ultimately more damaging.

At the time, it felt pretty clear to me that it was an issue of control. That is why we had been clashing more. In a way, his giving up on me gave me some freedom. It also made being at home unhappy, and tense, and talking about family awkward and talking about driving and not driving even more awkward. 

In discussing it with a friend years later, she was surprised that he would call me stupid, because that's the last thing I was. I thought that was a weird reaction, because how much do people worry about the accuracy of insults when they are trying to hurt you? However, it may be worth noting that when my inner critic sounds off, "stupid" is always right near the top of the list. I think the order it goes in is "Fat, stupid, ugly, weak, worthless"... I may be forgetting some. 

I guess I knew that if I got into a car with him, something like that would happen. Later, after we were speaking again, I worked very hard to keep things smooth, because I felt that if we ever fought again, we wouldn't recover. That came true too.

Well, it's a little more complicated than that, but more on that next time.

Review retrospective: So many concerts!

I had doubts about fitting decent coverage of the first 100 reviews into a single post anyway. I remembered it as an exciting time with some great bands, where some of the later hundreds just aren't going to measure up. 

I had forgotten how awesome it was concert-wise.

Already covered, my first band reviewed was The All-American Rejects, and there were four other bands associated with that concert. (The concert was at the end of October 2012, but I started getting reviews up in December because I was still figuring things out.) They got two posts and two weeks of songs.

I have also indicated that the band for my next concert, the Gin Blossoms, will also get their own week. 

It may be worth mentioning that in early October I wrote about seeing The Fixx at Music Millennium, and in February 2014 I was going to see Reggie and the Full Effect at Branx. There were cool, important to me things about both of those shows, and I did blog about The Fixx though I did not consider it a review.

That makes an exciting, extended concert-going period, but still does not tell you that between Rejects and Reggie, between January and December 2013, I saw twelve different shows. 

It was not technically one show a month, though it was mostly spread out. Sometimes things got a little tight.

Surprisingly, it was only seven different venues, with four at the Roseland, three at the Crystal Ballroom (so seven on Burnside), plus one each at the Rose Garden, Spirit Mountain, the Schnitz, and Wonder Ballroom, plus one at The Haunt, which was a "haunted house", but a seasonal set up one, not a real one.

It involved 28 different bands.

It involved more healing. At some point after I got to see The Presidents and the Daddies, I received new wounds. I had tickets for Keane and that was canceled when Tom needed to go to rehab, and I was at a Jimmy Eat World show with Maria and she needed to leave early because she had work the next morning and it was going late. 

I got to see them both. I knew it was exciting at the time, and I blogged about it twice (with some wrong predictions), but eight years later I had forgotten how exciting it was.

I can't even link to all of the reviews; it would be overkill. They will all be in the spreadsheet I am working on, and a link to that will go up when it is finished.

I can't do a song for each band this week; that would take a month! I am sure some will come up later. I am taking notes. 

Of course, I did songs for all of them then, and sometimes multiple songs. I didn't end up at the concerts by accident. Some of these bands meant a lot to me.

I will give a summary of the concerts.

Gin Blossom: Spirit Mountain Casino, Ambrosia opened. Went with Jeana and Angela. Encountered everyone in the band and talked to two of them.

The Killers: The Rose Garden, M83 and Tegan and Sara opened. Went with Karen. With the openers, it was interesting to see that bands you can enjoy live can be totally not your thing recorded.

Keane: The Crystal Ballroom. Youngblood Hawke opened. Went alone. (first time, except for some Rose Festival shows)

The Gaslight Anthem: Wonder Ballroom. Matt Mays and Westchester United Football Club opened. Went alone. I had wanted to see them their previous time in town, but found out about it too late. Both opening bands were touching in different ways.

Mindless Self Indulgence: Roseland. The Red Paintings opened. Went alone. I briefly interacted with everyone in MSI Lynz and Kitty were especially wonderful -- and I met The Red Paintings singer, Trash. He explained to me why he doesn't hug people, and then he hugged me. I don't know if he decided I really needed it or that he wouldn't mind it.

Farewell My Love: The Haunt. Headliner was Snow White's Poison Bite. Also on the bill, Kissing Candace and Chomp Chomp Attack!, plus two local bands, Whispers of Wonder and We Rise the Tides. Went alone. This was my first time going to see a band because they had followed me and I was going to review them, as opposed to being previously invested.

Fall Out Boy: Roseland. New Politics opened. Went alone. Talked to David Boyd of New Politics for a bit and was really impressed with him.

Jimmy Eat World: Crystal Ballroom. X Ambassadors opened. Went alone. That guarantees not having to leave early.

Adam Ant: Roseland. Prima Donna opened. Went with Julie, Maria, and Bonnie. Talked to Kevin of Prima Donna for a bit. They were a find.

Pet Shop Boys: The Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall. No opening act. Went with Julie, Maria, and Tripp. That show was a trip, but this band does what they want, in their own way, and I respect that. Shockingly, it was their first time playing in Portland.

AFI: Roseland. Touché Amoré opened. Went alone. It was Halloween and everyone in
Touché Amoré was dressed as a breakfast item. While I like AFI better musically, I will always have a fondness for Touché Amoré from that night.

Third Eye Blind: Crystal Ballroom. TEAM* opened. Went alone, but I had interacted with some of the musicians on Twitter, and seeing the way they each got their moment felt really good. Also interesting talking to the TEAM* singer there.

Songs for this week:

“All These Things That I've Done” by The Killers -- This was a really good moment in the concert, and it's a fun song.

“The Lovers Are Losing” by Keane -- I love a lot of songs by this band, but this is the one that comes to mind now.

“Great Expectations” by The Gaslight Anthem -- They are good overall, but it is really about two songs for me, this and "59 Sound", but this one came first.

“Goodbye, Copenhagen” by New Politics -- Also a really good band, but this is one that really stuck with me and never got an official release. They are from Copenhagen so it is kind of about leaving home to pursue their careers.

“Feral Children” by Prima Donna -- I love this band and have done multiple songs by them, but I have avoided this one because it is a little too sexy. Be warned.

“Deep Slow Panic” by AFI -- Many good songs here, but this is one that was new at the time and really spoke to me.

“Come To My House” by TEAM* -- I had forgotten about this one until I started going back over old reviews. It's good to go back sometimes.

Related posts: 

https://sporkful.blogspot.com/2012/10/the-fixx-live-at-music-millennium.html

https://sporkful.blogspot.com/2013/02/the-year-of-magical-concert-going.html

https://sporkful.blogspot.com/2013/06/concert-going-music-writing-update.html

https://sporkful.blogspot.com/2017/10/one-story-of-one-band.html

 

 

 

One for Josh

There is another nagging thought here, though not specifically about me.

It comes from another two things that could have been separate but are tying together. I am swimming in a sea of synchronicity right now.

During "RememberSeptember, on October 11th (so really #RememberSeptemberExtendedDanceMix), I did a memorial for different people that I have lost from school days. I knew I had to do it because of other memories that had been coming up involving people who were already gone.

Joshua Westhaver was a big part of that. 

Along with those memories and talking with a friend, I was remembering Fiddler On The Roof and realized that I did not have stage fright, which was kind of interesting, and it made me think more about all of those drama and acting adjacent memories 

I remembered something I wanted to share. I thought I would go to a blog that had been set up in his memory, http://memoriesofjoshuawesthaver.blogspot.com/. I did not know how to post there, and it wasn't that big a thing, so I was going to leave it alone, except for that nagging thought...

I don't remember Josh being in Fiddler. 

That seems weird to me. Of all of my friends who did any acting or stage management or anything, Josh was the most involved. He was in plays at Aloha, including the title role in Barnum our senior year, and he did several after graduation. He even has one film credit:

Fiddler was 5th grade, and I remember his showing surprising acting ability in 6th grade; that was the memory I wanted to share.

Actually, everything we did together was creative in some way.  

Let's go back in time.

Josh and I were at the same school but not in the same class in first grade. I think we became friends in second grade, so after I had suffered social death the year before, and before Jennie moved here in third grade. He did not get in on sleepovers, but we were all three friends, and the primary crew for Graveyard Airlines games in 4th grade. Then when Stephen moved here in fifth grade, he joined us.

My earliest memory of Josh -- and the story that I told at his memorial service -- was that the first time we really talked, we came up with superhero identities for ourselves. The next day he returned with pictures he had drawn of our costumes. 

I told that story because on the way down I was with another friend and we were reminiscing. She said how adorable it was. Well, to adults, sure, but for 2nd graders it was epic. There's a difference.

I knew he could act in 6th grade, because we did a sketch for English class together. Maybe it was about someone having a need. The way we did it, Josh was looking for a hat and he came into my combination footwear and head wear shop, It's Raining Hats and Clogs. At the time he had a Greek fisherman's cap that he wore all the time, but he took it off so he could buy it in the store.

This is why I remember his acting: I remember him coming into the "store" and looking at a shoe display and saying "I need a hat, not shoes!" Except that there was no shoe display. The only prop we had was his hat. Well, I might have made a sign, but that might have just been some drawing; I don't think we used it. However, the way his eyes went, you knew exactly where the shoe display was, and could picture it. It was clearly one of those short round ones. And the mind is definitely filling that in based on what you would normally encounter in a shoe store at that time (about 1984), but still, he was so convincing! And intense. I don't think my performance was great because I was trying not to laugh. I didn't know how deeply into the role he would get. 

That year we also worked on a short animated film for homeroom, The Garden Tragedy. It was actually my second animated film, because I had done one in 4th grade for TAG using clay. For this we used construction paper, ten years before South Park. And it wasn't just us; we worked with Karel, Lynn, and Marian, but I think we did some extra. I remember going to his house once, and I assume it was for that.

And then the boundaries changed, and a handful of us went to Five Oaks, while everyone else went to Mountain View. By the time we all met up again in high school, somehow our paths never crossed. I don't remember having a single class with Josh. At least one friend from junior high dated him, and I saw him in plays, in school and once after, The Comedy of Errors. 

I went with Jennie, so it would have been a mini-reunion. We should have tracked him down after the show. We didn't want to intrude. 

I didn't know that was the last time I'd see him alive. How could I?

But you never do know.

One of the painful twists in this story is that the friend from whom I found out that Josh was gone, Erin (who was also in that 10th grade drama class, and was so funny) is gone now too. I never saw that coming either.

I should be very clear that there was never any hint of romance between Josh and I, but he was a really good friend. That's not just because he was there when I needed someone, but also because we had such fun, with plenty of weirdness, and he could throw himself all in, to anything you needed.

This feels very much like the end of Stand By Me now. 

It's okay that we ended up walking different paths. I am more happy for what we had than upset that it didn't last, but I would have liked to have talked to him that night.

I really would have liked to see him in The True History of Coca Cola in Mexico. I did find video of The Adventures of Amyman and the Amazing Men -- I have seen him as Gilbert -- but I know there was a lot more to see, and I do feel that loss.

Our time here is precious and unpredictable. If you have something kind or loving or affirming to say, don't wait.

Related posts: 

https://sporkful.blogspot.com/2020/09/notice-that.html

Getting into management

Lest I give the wrong impression; my friends were not turning their backs on me. We still did some things together. In general, drama productions and the club and all of that took up a lot of time and shaped a lot of the social life.

For my sophomore year, I was not hanging out with anyone anymore. I tried a lot of different clubs. I rattled around at different service opportunities, based on what was posted at school. Most of that did not stick after I started working regularly, but that didn't happen until summer.

Obviously I was already at the point where I started using activities as my entry into socialization, but most of them didn't take enough time.

When I heard that the basketball team was looking for a manager, it seemed like an answer.

On the most basic level, for my needs, it was. It gave me something I could participate in where I had something to offer, and where there was a lot to do. It gave me something to focus on and kept my nights busy. 

With the coaches and some of the fathers, it gave me some men to look up to, though that became much more of an issue the following season. (We will get into that next week.)

There were times when it wasn't so fun, and I didn't know if I wanted to continue. Grant was a big help there. I knew I would finish the season, but was not positive that I would keep doing it. By the end of the basketball season, I offered my skills to the baseball coach. 

He didn't want me, but then the track team snapped me up, and the soccer team recruited me, and I became a three-season non-athlete.

Truly, it was tailor-made for someone who always felt there was something wrong for her, tried to make up for it by taking care of other people, and who was using organized activities and service as a means of feeling like she belonged anywhere.

It had its ups and downs. 

It definitely raised my profile around the school. Lots more people recognized me, which was initially pretty uncomfortable, but not actually bad.

Really, it was quite a ride. My junior year, the basketball team made the Final Four, and still made playoffs the year after that. The soccer team made the State Championship. Both teams had started out with a lot of the players on both the JV and Varsity teams, because there weren't enough players to fill out the roster otherwise. That changed. By my senior year, both of those teams had full rosters and there was also a full Sophomore basketball team. 

I was glad I was there for that, but they weren't my accomplishments.

(Track was different, because there is an overall team score, but from individual events. There were some good wins, and I think some champions, but it played out differently.)

It was not great for self-esteem. Yes, I was able to quickly and efficiently fold sweats and fill cups of water. I could carry things. I was great at caring about people. 

It was not the same as being able to perform a show-stopping musical number or complete a complicated math problem or win a trophy of my own. And having some self-worth shouldn't need to depend on proof that you have excelled in something competitive, but since that void was already there, being a sports manager couldn't make up for it. 

It did help me get through, which is probably the only fair expectation for a school-based activity.

Yes, parents, you really do have more influence on your children than their friends. Remember that.

Related posts:

https://sporkful.blogspot.com/2020/04/object-subject.html

https://sporkful.blogspot.com/2013/05/volunteering-as-crutch-for-socially.html

https://sporkful.blogspot.com/2010/08/club-sandwich.html

Drama relapse

The other nagging thought was confusion about taking drama in 10th grade as well.

I had been so thoroughly done with it. I remembered how angry I felt about it. I don't think I said angry things to anyone -- I kept it pretty internal -- but the feelings were strong. Why did I go back?

What came back was actually several memories. 

Okay, at Five Oaks I was in a group of six girls. Ericka moved after ninth grade, but everyone else was in that class that I took. 

I think I missed my friends.

I remember so many details from different sketches they did. We had one where we had to go over the same character at different life stages; I remember exactly what Karen, Nicki, and Danielle did. There was one where you had to be the multiple people in the same scene; I remember Ann's. 

There was one with different people with the same dialogue, so the difference is only the delivery, and one where you had to invoke the five senses. I remember mine and I didn't like them.

It was really pretty good stuff, and it was again possible to learn a lot, but I never quite felt right in it. I wanted romance and drama and to get some of this pain out and resolved. 

The reality is that I was much better at comedy. I understood it better and could come up with better material. But I wanted drama, and drama didn't work for me because it heightened everything that was glaring about what I believed was wrong with me.

Everyone else was doing it. Everyone in my junior high group but one, and from my grade school group a little too. Most of the new friends I made did at least one play, so I met them through old friends.

I have another memory of the class that doesn't make any sense.

We did at least two things that did not require creating original material. One was recitation from Cats, specifically "The Naming of Cats". I think I still have that mostly memorized, along with the prologue to The Canterbury Tales.

We also did some small group pieces. They were mostly dialogues but there may have been some trios. 

I did John Guare's The Loveliest Afternoon of the Year, which was pretty cool because I recognized it from some people on the speech team who had done it for a Duo Interp piece. 

The part that doesn't make sense is that I was paired with a guy. 

He may have been the only guy in the class. If there were others, there weren't many. He had fantastic hair. He was friends with at least one other girl in the class. I don't know how or why we ended up together. 

It's a romantic piece. It's also absurdist and ends with his wife killing us both with her shotgun, but nonetheless, there is attraction and connection. One transition involves a kiss, though we cut away before our lips actually met, which I think was the right decision.

Regardless, taking drama again gave me what I thought I wanted, and it was not enough. There I was, the object of affection, and it did not improve my self-esteem or make me think I was one white less repulsive.

It was lonely not having this thing to do with my friends, but this thing was no longer for me, at least not without a lot of therapy first.

What I really needed was something that fit my dysfunction and distracted me.

Well, "needed" night not be exactly the right word for that, but that's what I found and that's what I did.

No more drama!

It took me a long time to figure out why I quit drama so angrily. I knew my stated reasons, and they at least approached the real issue, but they were missing the deeper point.

I should go back to my first time on stage: Fiddler on the Roof when I was in 5th grade. I was a villager with a one-line solo on "Anatevka". I auditioned for Hodel.

Before auditions, we watched the movie in music, but it took several days. After the first day I wanted to be Tzeitel, but then after the second day I definitely wanted to be Hodel, and kind of Chava after the third day, but still mainly Hodel. The bookish aspects of Chava's personality felt familiar, but Hodel was spunkier, and she got to dance with Starsky.

I was worried about nailing her solo, but we didn't even include it in our play. I got "Villager". 

For unnamed characters, there were only three speaking parts. It probably was pretty good getting that, but I didn't really think of it at the time.

I very much wanted to be the ingenue with the love interest. I've always wanted romance. Part of the draw of acting for me was the chance to play at romance, not that school plays really play that up in the lower grades.

I have also always been drawn to entertaining other people, so when I write or do comedy or things like that, it gets there, but there was not the strong romantic association.

In junior high, before my split, I played the Three of Spades in Alice in Wonderland. It was not a great role; another case of slightly more to do than the chorus. I had been okay with that, but one day I just got fed up with it. 

That day happened somewhere not long after one afternoon of mockery and harassment that told me that I was romantically a joke and always would be. Really it was probably only 45 minutes for lunch, and a minute or so behind the school. It just felt longer.

In my head, I left drama because I was never going to get a good part, which meant a lead part, because I was not cute and I couldn't sing. 

That was not fair. I mean, I may not have been a great actress, but people got to try a lot of different things, and roles went to all kinds of people. I saw that happen. I also now see actors putting a lot of thought and nuance into small parts and it makes a difference. 

My reasons for leaving felt very diva-ish and was a little embarrassing, in retrospect.

Also, if I believed not being able to sing was a problem, starting a band where I was going to be the singer was foolish and that was my next move. (Ability to play instruments ended up being more of an issue.) Of course, lead parts in musicals were generally soprano, and I was not that, but there were things I could have done.

Later I told myself that the real issue was that drama would not have kept me busy enough, which again sounded reasonable, but was not really it.

I think I understand it now, and that is because of two nagging thoughts that I remembered for a long time before I could derive any meaning from them.

One was learning improvisation in class. I was a trucker hitting on a waitress (played by Will, so gender reversal). The teacher kept switching people in and out, so the hitting on was started before I was the trucker, but Will was turning down the come-on. I needed to move on, but I couldn't. I could not take another rejection, even though I was not supposed to be me in that moment. 

Of course it wasn't rejection that had gotten me there; it was pretended acceptance, but it messed me up, and I did not have any playfulness or ability to let go of ego, or any of the things that I needed to enjoy drama any more. 

I dropped Drama Club and joined the yearbook staff, and I dropped Drama class from my schedule and took Beginning Guitar. I couldn't accurately assess myself there either.

The way I understand it now is that losing my hopes of future romance was bad enough, but not even getting the chance to emulate it, with reminders of why I was not good enough to emulate or have it... it just hurt too much.  I had all of this undirected anger and needed a place to bury it, but drama would not work for that. I was spinning for a while.

It was not fair. Our drama teacher and director Mr. Smith was a really good teacher, and I learned a lot from him. Even if it could have been appropriate for him to diagnose my shattered self-image and fix it, I do not think it would have been possible.

That's because of the other nagging memory. That's next.

Review retrospective: The All-American Rejects, part 2

Much of my musical reawakening was related to getting on Twitter, and it just happened that The All-American Rejects -- one of my "before" bands -- dropped a new album, Kids In The Street, about a month after I had been on.

This may be why I initially attracted more Rejects fans than MCR fans, though there was overlap.

If a band never did anything but provided good music, that would be enough, but there are three things about this band that stand out as special to me, specifically related to the on-Twitter and reviving time period of my life.

1. They were my first band review: 

That it was a concert was important, but part of that is that there were four other related bands, and they were not the band that played first. 

I normally review bands for a concert in playing order, but failed attempts showed me that I could not do the other bands until I reviewed them. Then it flowed, and it was more of a gush, ultimately, but really, they needed to be first. That was how it worked, and then I could go on and do the rest of the bands, and keep going with other bands. Maybe breaking in needed love.

2. They revived concerts for me:

I had been to other concerts, even during the gap; I had already made up other missed bands The Presidents of the United States of America and the Cherry Poppin' Daddies. Those shows were both at the Crystal Ballroom, and that's where I got to see the Rejects too. It felt like a nice continuity.

There was something else though. My very first concert was Charlie Sexton at Civic Auditorium in the summer of 1986 (between 8th and 9th grade). Before the concert I had seen Charlie stepping out of a limo and going in the stage door, and then after we chatted with the tour bus driver. There was so much excitement beyond the performance.

So seeing Mike Kennerty, and talking to him briefly, and seeing Nick Wheeler walking Dexter, it felt so much like that magic was back. I have met and talked to many musicians and tour managers and stage crew now, and it doesn't get old, but the Rejects were a perfect start for what has come after.

3. They inspired a book series:

It wasn't just them, but I saw them just before Halloween in the same week that I was seeing Bad Reputation Production's play of The Lost Boys. Putting all of that together gave me the dream that became Family Blood, and then Family Ghost and Family Reunion. 

There are more vampires to fight (in Spruce Cove and in the Philippines and in Romania), and someday I hope to get there, but at the time I had just wrapped up one big project. It had been important to write that one, and I needed it, but it also had no commercial potential. 

Finding something else to write that I could believe had commercial potential (even if it is still unrealized) was important. If the musicians in the book became their own characters (despite starting out looking a lot like this band), that is right and proper, but it still left a deep fondness for the band. I mean, I was already pretty fond anyway.

4. They surprised me:

Yeah, I know I said three things. Sue me. Maybe the other things aren't quite as big.

It wasn't just that suddenly this band that I had liked was on tour and had new music, they also had an album I had completely missed, When the World Comes Down, from December 2008.

As badly as my world was falling down right then, I could have used it then. Finding it later is my reminder that good things can still be happening, even when you aren't aware of it.

5.  I am still learning from them:

I really thought these retrospectives would just be one week for each 100 bands, taking the top five or seven songs. It would not be fair to say every best song from the first 100 was theirs, but only one Rejects song was surely insufficient. 

Then, listening to them again, I had my favorites, but listening to the whole albums again was so good. Some Forbes writer was just saying albums are dead; dude, you are only showing your ignorance.

When I am not listening to new bands, I will usually go with play lists I have on various themes, but it is also important to listen to the bands you love every now and then. Go over the catalog and remind yourself why you love them. So good. 

I got to remember how it had seemed like there were a lot of counting songs on their debut album. Okay, they were "One More Sad Song", "Don't Leave Me", and "Happy Endings". Then there were all of the songs that worked for the 12-21-12 playlist: "It Ends Tonight", "When the World Comes Down", "The Last Song", "and when the sky is falling" on "Change Your Mind"... There are lots of smiles for all the yearning.

I must say, "Dance Inside" is a bit more sexual than I remembered.

I love these guys, but beyond that love, all of the counted points require two posts, and two weeks of songs. 

The first eight daily songs were from the first two albums, so now we wrap up with songs from the last two.

“I Wanna” -- from the surprise record, this was the one that caught my attention first. I remember walking around with this song on repeat in my head. And, it was the first song I sang for karaoke at my birthday party after that.

“Another Heart Calls” -- So yearning. It may be the track that reminds me most of their earlier work.

“Heartbeat Slowing Down”-- I generally prefer their faster songs, but this performance and Tyler's talking about it at the concert was heartbreaking, and then re-listening I notice some guitar work that is worthy of Johnny Marr. It may showcase their craft more. Technical prowess is usually not why I fall for a band, but I do still appreciate it.

“Fast & Slow” -- A very fun song. It could have done well as an official release. See, you miss things like this when you don't listen to entire albums.

“Kids In The Street” -- That year when they had a new album and I didn't know it? Among other things a childhood friend died. When this song came out four years later, in my mind it was just always about him. So even though in that dream that started the books, it was touring bass player Matt Rubano in that hospital bed, I know it was really Josh, and that dictated a lot of how things played out.

“I For You” -- A very brief acoustic song that is absolutely beautiful.

Related posts:

https://sporkful.blogspot.com/2012/12/in-concert-all-american-rejects.html 

https://sporkful.blogspot.com/2013/03/one-year-of-kids-in-street-1yeaarkits.html