There are many wonderful people in the world. I know this. I know many of them. Most woman are supportive and caring. Most men are kind and respectful. However, I am always amazed by how many people are giant jerkwads. I have two kids, both teens. I've been spending a lot of time thinking about being their age, and to be honest, it really doesn't seem that long ago. I've also been going over situations I experienced, which I wish I could have understood, and had the confidence to better handle. This isn't meant to be an over-dramatic log of Poor Me Moments. I'm merely attempting to untangle some memories.
A few moments so impacted me that I carry them with me, today. Unwanted tattoos that I didn't design. A big colorful one was applied during drama camp, circa 1990. I was 15, and as self-conscious and awkward, as you might imagine. It was summer, and hot, so I wore shorts; but hated my legs. My mother raised me on a steady diet of the physical attributes of my ancestors. "You are made of sturdy German stock" was one of her favorite go-to explanations for my wide knees and solid ankles. I recently did one of those mail-in DNA tests, and guess what: 96% English. 0% German. I suppose there must be hardy women out there in England, also.
Anyway, for this camp we all chose a song to sing, and a monologue to perform. We also took a tap class, but the most exciting part of the day was learning how to act in television commercials. The instructor had the dubious distinction of having been cast in a national commercial for a cold medicine. He played the dopey, middle-age husband with a horrible cold. He was proud of that commercial, and behaved as though it gave him supreme knowledge of all aspects of TV acting.
We each got some sides to perform in front of a camera. "Good, darling!" he would shout out, or "Fabulous!" When we watched the playback of my performance, he said:
"Well, my-oh-my, this one is so ugly she's cute."
So ugly she's cute.
I laughed along with the others. My sweet friend tried to translate these words into something positive, but she was not having much luck. I spent a long time staring in the mirror that night. I've looked at photos of myself from that summer, and I gotta say, I was a babe. I have no idea why this man chose those words, but they've been burned into my skin.
In high school I travelled with a group of theater kids, and was lucky to always have friends to hang out with. One of them was a boy whom I admired. He had so much talent, was so enigmatic -- and he beat me up, almost every day. I bruised easily, and made the mistake of talking about it with the gang. This particular boy thought it was a riot to try to make welts all over my arms and legs during every lunch break. I acted like it was all such great fun, so no one ever thought to tell him to stop. One day I was wearing a denim jacket that I had patched with a piece of lace, and he ripped the lace off the jacket, and hooked his fingers into the tear, ripping a path down my sleeve. Not once did I tell him to leave me alone.
A few years later, I was in a production, which included people of many ages. A guy, who was in his thirties (I was 19) asked if I was wearing a different bra, because my "boobs look[ed] different." I was so uncomfortable, that of course I answered his question. Want to know how I know that he knew it was inappropriate? He brought my favorite candy the next day, handing it to me sheepishly, without a word. I thanked him and ate the goddamn candy.
That same year, a man stalked me at the mall. He sat down at the table where I was eating dinner on my lunch break, at McDonald's. He told me he had been watching me. I had nice hands (I don't), and he wanted to marry me. He wouldn't take no for an answer. He wasn't on drugs, he assured me, his eyes were always red, like that. The manager asked if I was okay, and of course I said I was fine. I don't know why I said that. In fact, I was pretty sure my body would be discovered by the dumpsters, in the morning. Thankfully, the manager didn't believe me, and called security.
These weird moments weren't just confined to the male species. Women chose to do weird crap, as well. A female theater teacher at the university I attended told another student that I was too fat. Why that person chose to share this with me... who knows? But how it burned. Weeks later, a male teacher in the same department informed me that "Every woman gets a window of time when they look their best." He insisted that I was in the window, and I thanked him. Then I couldn't stop wondering: When would the window close? How would I know?
If any of these accounts made you cringe, then good for you: You are most certainly not a jerkwad!
I have hundreds of stories, like these. Am I sensitive? Yes. But why are some people such jerks? It makes me afraid for what my children will encounter. They are stronger, more vocal, than I. They've been taught to speak up when they feel uncomfortable. I know how hard that is to do in the moment. I pray for strength for them, that they know their worth. And that they have developed a fantastic jerkwad detector.
