And quite a different from the ones we used to have before, when I was a young teen, doing my young teen rebellion thing. But then I brought forth the golden child and all of a sudden I'm part of an all inclusive club...and I'm still really trying to fit into the idea of being an adult...
For one, I used to be quite the hellion when I was a little girl. And by hellion I mean I used to get my thrills taking on one, two boys on in school fights. I'm a rowdy, rough and tumble fighter. Nothing excites me more than the prospect of pounding someone's face in with my fists. And the sweet taste of victory (or blood) was in no way marred by the prospect of the massive ass-kicking waiting for me at home (though now that I think about it, I wonder if I would have gotten discipline at home if I had lost a fight in school?)
Either ways, most people misinterpret my bravado with conceit...my high-school friends might even have referred to me as maniacal behind my back. That's just what's going to happen when people have different opinions.
And I accept those views of myself. I can be quite assertive. That's what makes me so hard to fuck with. I'm like one of those inflatable bozos that you could bop and if you hit it quite hard sometimes it would come back up and smack you back in the face. And I'm quite fond of that quality.
My mom thinks I'm a little too gun ho when it comes to confrontations. I AGREE! I love love love confrontations, because believe it or not, I've never actively pursued one. I'm always going about my life and someone always feels like they have the right to fuck with me. I'm almost always vindicated in my retaliation. I have a theory that all the boys I beat in elementary school had crushes on me, which is why they sought me out. Can't make/don't really think much about the harpies obsessing over me right now, I understand their jealousy translates into barely-contained insecurity. It's not my job to kiss their boo-boos.
Grown-ass women behaving like kiddies...tchhh!
Besides, when did my mom get all calm and tactful? If there is one thing I'm absolutely sure of, is where my little brother and I got this legendary temper of ours (my oldest and youngest brothers are definitely...more subdued). Now, I might not be the massive football player my brother is, but I can rage just as hard.
I've accepted the fact that I'm quick to anger because I know I'm just as quick to cracking jokes and having a smile on my face. I'm a passionate person, that's just how I roll. But I've got to reveal this, if old age and wisdom signify a great drop in my ability to reach the HULK SMASH stage, I might want to revise my eagerness to wizen up.
I'm twenty one years old. Granted, I'm going to be filled with a lot more hot air than my elders. But seeing that I seek a taste of the wisdom they are privy too, I'm constantly at odds with myself. Do I short fuse, or take a deep breath, assess the situation and make a cool, collected response.
Most of the time, I end up SMASHING EVERYTHING. Yes, youth tends to make one reckless, one perhaps overestimate their abilities. So what makes this fervor different than what motivates great men and women to accomplish the unthinkable? I wish I knew what great figures like Mandela and Ghandi were like as youth.
What moment did they make the transition, from hot-head to centered being?
I remember, as a little girl, visiting my grandmother, Madelaine is her name (I considered naming Lilo after her). The last time I saw her she was significantly taller than I, so I still had that sensation of looking up and seeing this being greater than me and experiencing awe, fear and respect....and what I remember the most is her gaze, hawkish and amused at the same time...but most of all serene. I remember being absolutely terrified of voicing a lie around her. I would often be plagued with trepidation over the gut feeling that she knew, she knew.And later on, I heard about her hard life and I developed a certain amount of admiration for her. This respect/adoration is the same one I have for my mom, a few of my aunts, Mitchell's aunt. I really feel like one is not a woman until they reach middle age. Sometimes I entertain thoughts like 'When Lilo flies out of the coop, goes off to further her education/be independent I would only be 38 years old! What the hell would I have taught her in that short amount of time if I still, by then, have the understanding of a bean sprout?' Why are some older people so still, always dragging around with a smile on their faces, yet so oblivious to the going-ons around them? I believe that overtime my body is slowly going to start failing me, and as it does I would go more inward, though I can't imagine what life would be like with an even more accelerated thought process. I'm already having to write pages and pages and pages in order to empty out the loud chorus in my head.
Which is why I blog. I was turned on to journaling by one of the early childhood psychologist I was made to see when I started 'acting out' in 8th/9th grade. I remember she had an ample bosom, bushy, long red hair and a hook nose with a wart on it. I kid you not. I'm still convinced to this day that my psychologist was a bona-fide Witch.
Writing was a less destructive outlet than physical altercations, and over time I've become extremely reliant on its cathartic properties. I wish I could make a living out of it. It's all I ever seem to want to do. I find it extremely calming to be able to see the progress of my thought process, from those panicked entries I wrote in the first journal I've ever possessed, one given to me by Auntie M, our next door neighbor in Virginia, she wasn't a blood relative (I believe she's actually Irish), but I always felt like she was kin. I am sometimes a little embarrassed by how ignorant I seemed back then...how scared and angry I was. One particular entry I've been going back to and reading over lately, one when I'm literally pleading with my journal, God, anyone really, begging for someone to make this one particular older male relative stop touching me. I can pick up how close to the edge I was back then and consequently, how I fell apart and had to rebuild myself, how I'm still trying to build myself.
My whole life I have been surrounded and guided by strong women. It's funny that I've never actually realized 'til now that at all defining moments in my life, I was flanked by a woman (aunties) who were able to support me through though emotional times and enlighten me with wisdom and knowledge. Perhaps that's why I want to be them. I want to be filled with knowledge. I want to impart that knowledge onto my daughter. But more than I want to be able to protect her. And even more than that I want her to be intelligent and independent. Be able to come to her own conclusions and be able to make the right, moral and ethical choice at every time she's faced with the opportunity to.
I have high expectations of everyone. Myself included. I just do.
And by the way, I'm starting to see it, you know. In my mother's eyes, I'm starting to see the same 'thing' I once saw in my grandmother's eyes. I tend to fantasize and imagine myself later on being allowed to tap into a library filled with arcane knowledge and I can finally be the sage mami I wish to become but somehow I don't think that's how it would happen.
...ooh. I have a lot to do today. Cleaning. Cleaning. Lots of cleaning. I also think Lilo's finally awake. Good morning!
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