Then and Now, Inside and Out
I will admit that when I sat down at my computer I had very little to say. And, that, frankly, kinda scared the hell out of me.
Who am I if I am not a loudmouthed, sarcastic know-it-all who has something to say about everything?
I just don’t know.
My instinct, for some reason was to comment about Tupac. I think it is because I saw a teenager wearing a t-shirt today that had Biggie and Tupac on it. Tupac was flicking off the camera. It made me think about the whole concept of rebellion and whether it was inherently good or bad — or neither — or both.
When I was a teenager, I remember there was a bit of a resurgence of 1960’s hippie fashion and culture. I bought cheap babydoll dresses at Contempo Casuals and discovered The Beatles and people started tie-dying everything around them. Then Hypercolor t-shirts became the post-modern pseudo-tie-dye reinvention. Ugh.
And, during this time, I thought everyone over 19 was pretty fucking dumb. They just didn’t understand reality. This reality, of course, was whatever I believed it to be in my 14 years of wisdom. No one, you better believe, was dumber than my parents. They were super, ultra, extra dumb and could never hope to understand my world in all its complicatedness.
I was a rebel in my own mind. I never got into any trouble whatsoever. I once drove a car for about 5 whole minutes before I was 16 and had a license. I never had to serve any penance for this crime, though.
Yet, I empathized with those who struggled. My soul seemed to identify with those who felt the need to revolt. Maybe I listened to too many Sex Pistols songs or Sonic Youth feedback. There was always a sort of fire in my tiny, adolescent belly that yearned to be in London (and be older), with my fist in the air and a snarl on my face. I scrawled lyrics to Pixies songs on my school notebooks, then went to AP English class in my cheerleader uniform where I discussed philosophy and later filled out college applications to some of the more prestigious universities in my area.
I never felt like a hypocrite. I just felt (then and now) that the person inside me didn’t always match the person I showed to the public. Or the person my parents expected me to become.
I never rebelled. Not in any real way. And, I do think – now as an adult – that all of the teeny-bopper bullshit whining that I hear constantly about how adults don’t understand and the world is so cruel and the soul is so black and we’re just so misunderstood is played out and pretty fucking annoying. I have become my parents. But, I already knew that.
But, still, I kinda like seeing that picture of Tupac with a very adamant middle finger proudly on display on that kid’s shirt. Part of me still identifies with the fuck-you attitude.
It is what makes me so charming. And lovable.