 |
| Soldiers Holding Hands: It is not unusual in many societies throughout east Africa for men to display their friendship for one another by holding hands in public. Two soldiers on patrol in the streets of Bujumbura, Burundi nonchalantly express their affection for one another. Geordie Mott from Halifax, NS, Canada |
My best friend from high school and I formed a friendship pact the summer after our graduation, drunk and high as we were on the beaches of New Jersey, because were were going to be roommates as freshmen, and we were looking forward to freedom, school, boys....or maybe that was just me. I tried back then to be as discreet as possible about my liaisons, taught as I'd been by many years of envious abuse that my looks (never to be openly discussed) were in the same category as my rampant heterosexuality; something to be hinted at, glossed over quickly (for your comfort), and then summarily dismissed, lest it cause anyone else in the room with me embarrassment over something I couldn't control then or now.
It was oddly secretive, which aren't my personality traits, but I considered good social manners and politeness towards my friends to be very important, because we all came from disastrously broken homes that were rife with crazily violent outbursts, followed by those mellow periods that marked our parents shameful lives. It also followed cleanly along with those typically deeply-ingrained patterns of manic depression that we "wrote the book(s) on" as children, because we studied it up-close and personal, and not by choice.
We continued our comic routines about our fucked-up parents well into adulthood, and some of us even have their native New Yawk accents down pat (uh, yeah, me). Our brilliant timing and high sense of comedy made for strong bonds between us; everyone in our crowd loves a good time. Having fun with my friends was something that got me through the rough spots even when we were badly banged up by other people's problems. It was in this common spirit of preserving a well-maintained equilibrium among the mental anguish around us that made the difference between our success and failure, alone as we were.
So, me and my best friend devised a few necessary ground rules to cover us through those first few rough patches we would inevitably have during our first year in college. We were accepted into our schools of choice, proving to nasty detractors (and family alike) that our intelligence wasn't just some crazy person's bullshit hype, something our hapless parents have denied to our faces all of our lives (they have to be smarter), despite mountains of evidence to the contrary. Karen's parents took their pride all the way home to an early grave, which was a type of winning in their twin books of life's massive stand-offs and epic show-downs. They'd rather die from cancer and addiction than admit we were winning, which we are, and we knew it because we had to always justify our existence to the madness of their minds, despite our freedom from their decision to meet, mate, and marry.
We were independent way too soon, and we knew that, too. There would be no rescue for any of us from any of our failures (as individuals, or within a group), because our parent's were the first people we knew who hurt us badly. In response to their insanities, we became perfected, which they hated, too. It was the perfect love/hate dynamic for a disordered generation with no real ups-or-downs. It was "Easy Street" all the way for our softer parents, which is exactly why we went to school with a lot more focus than most 17- and 18-year old's matriculating within an excellent working-class school in upstate New York. We had jobs, some money, and a strong sense of self... and that was about it, besides all of the ideals we knew we had to enforce to create the change we needed to exist out there in the world.
The first challenge for us to address was our rather infamous party skills, ones openly displayed that were duly noted by friend and foe alike, and isn't that life itself? Know thyself first, then know thy enemy second, and we did. Karen was hurt early on during our last summer home by a group of friends who turned on her while they "played house" and we drank on the beach around boys with bonfires, and then I got hurt later on in the season by a man in his 30s looking to "score with a hottie", which meant someone else existed in his head besides me, probably someone made-up and far from reality.
We hammered out the details, though, behind the backs of people we were meant to cut off from, because they couldn't keep up. In between peals of giddy laughter at our new-found freedoms, we planned for the inevitable backlash that always followed on the heels of our frivolities, like partying on a beach in summertime and then being dropped into the coldness of a Canada-like deep freeze for college, in a simulacrum of opposites that we could do nothing about but accept, because we grew up swinging between other people's polar extremes. We knew what to expect, hurt as it was inevitably designed to do anyway.
But, we didn't die at school, and believe it or not, that can happen at any time, which we accepted as gracefully as any teenage woman could. I contracted a serious illness from a tick bite during a walk through the woods my second month at school, after first tangling swords with the "Duke of Puke" and then meeting my first real boyfriend, though today's concept for kids is to stay safe, like we tried to do. One of our few precious rules was to "never party alone" which we intoned to any kid reasonable enough and sober enough to listen (or care about). We didn't save everyone, but we fought hard for our generation, the very one you as Millennials (or more charmingly known as "Gen Y" by their inept parents, as in "Why did I have kids?" Indeed! Why did you?) hold us to the highest human standards one can have for their elders, which is the right thing to do.
Always have a drinking buddy, never go to a party alone, don't party by yourself (in case something should happen to you that requires immediate medical assistance), and never walk home at night in the dark. Stay safe, loved ones. The woods are full of wolves...and Generation X. Welcome to the "New World Order"! It's time to survive, and it's time for survival skills, because "survival skills are paramount to success" (yes, another saying just like my...NOOO!!! My Dad says that!) So. Survive. I want you to survive. Then, we can thrive. And that's another one of our motto's, too. Survive, then thrive.
https://www.nspcc.org.uk/preventing-abuse/keeping-children-safe/staying-safe-away-from-home/. Every childhood is worth fighting for.
