swing sets, tattoos, baseball and why things have changes much since i was six
By jbb217
The fear of being different from everyone elseRaced through my mindAs if they were the Matchbox cars that I had just send into a fiery abyss at the end of the makeshift ramps of my mother’s cookbooks I had set up in the front yard.So anyone who passed by on their bike could see I had done exactly what they do.Six-year olds don't have a dying need to express their individuality.They want to be able to be friends with anyone,Not the kid always picked last to play any sport ending in B-A-L-L.You have to have the newest toy.You have to have seen the latest episode of the Transformers.Or else…Banished from the playground to sit with the kid that eats worms,Or worse yet,To play with the girls on the swing sets.You never wanted to be the only boy playing with Barbies instead of Ninja Turtles.This was your greatest fear.Not the dark,Not girls, be it a close second.But to be the one that can't be just like everyone else.It was a fate worse than being grounded,Because at least when you released from the confines of your living roomWatching Oprah with your mother,At least the kids welcomed you back.Like a veteran returning home from war.You return to your posse and you get to play right field.You just don’t like baseballThen you’re going to be alone the rest of your childhood days.Riding your bike past the baseball fields while all the other children laughed at you.And the girls called your name;The scarlet letter for any pre-pubescent boy.A girl’s affection when you still can’t tie your own shoelaces is the greatest sin of them all.The last thing you want to do is be a ladies man in the second grade.So you still through grade school,Junior high and high school.Pretending to be like everyone else.Even if you really want to go home and watch a documentary about Picasso or Poe or whatever else you pretended to hate learning about 4th period.And go to the homecoming game.Acting as if you cared that little Susie that always want to play house with you is now your homecoming queen.You sit there hoping that maybe someday it will be alright to be yourselfAnd not exactly like everyone else.That someday it will be alright to be who you really are instead of who everyone else wants you to be.You sit through college.You sit at the bars, drinking when you should be paying your gas bill like everyone else.You don’t mind hearing your name being called out by little Susie who is now just Susan.You think “now’s my chance. I’ve waited forever to say what I want to say”Susan walks over to you.Takes a seat next to you.Her halter-top slides up her tanned back showing that little butterflyOr SunOr Chinese symbols that she has no one idea what it meansTattoo in the small of her backLike you have seen on the small of every single girl’s back in the entire country.But you try and thinking of something more.You try and think of poetry.Something she has never heard before.That one things she has longed for her entire life.This is the moment you have been waiting for;The chance to be you.But then you wonder if that’s being too much.The greatest most original people are always the most alone.So you steal a line you heard your friend use on a girl a week ago Thursday.She laughs.She giggles.She invites you home.You have the same one-night stand that you had a week ago only with a different cast and setting.You write her number down in your address book.Right after the last evening of blasé sex from seven nights ago.You go to your friends’ the next night and share sexual escapades over a keg.Which each of you have told and heard before.You maybe able to tie your shoes,And girls seem to grow immunity to being “icky” and “gross” when you all hit fourteen.But you dare not change anything that matter.You never know when your friends will need someone to play right field.And those swing sets still look very lonely.what do ya think Written September 24th, 2001 © on Sep 24 2001 02:43 PM PST 0 • 14
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"The fear of being different from everyone elseRaced through my mindAs if they were the Matchbox cars that I had just send into a fiery abyss at the end of the makeshift ramps of my mother’s cookbooks I had set up in the front yard.So anyone who passed by on their bike could see I had done exactly what they do.Six-year olds don't have a dying need to express their individuality.They want to be able to be friends with anyone,Not the kid always picked last to play any sport ending in B-A-L-L.You have to have the newest toy.You have to have seen the latest episode of the Transformers.Or else…Banished from the playground to sit with the kid that eats worms,Or worse yet,To play with the girls on the swing sets.You never wanted to be the only boy playing with Barbies instead of Ninja Turtles.This was your greatest fear.Not the dark,Not girls, be it a close second.But to be the one that can't be just like everyone else.It was a fate worse than being grounded,Because at least when you released from the confines of your living roomWatching Oprah with your mother,At least the kids welcomed you back.Like a veteran returning home from war.You return to your posse and you get to play right field.You just don’t like baseballThen you’re going to be alone the rest of your childhood days.Riding your bike past the baseball fields while all the other children laughed at you.And the girls called your name;The scarlet letter for any pre-pubescent boy.A girl’s affection when you still can’t tie your own shoelaces is the greatest sin of them all.The last thing you want to do is be a ladies man in the second grade.So you still through grade school,Junior high and high school.Pretending to be like everyone else.Even if you really want to go home and watch a documentary about Picasso or Poe or whatever else you pretended to hate learning about 4th period.And go to the homecoming game.Acting as if you cared that little Susie that always want to play house with you is now your homecoming queen.You sit there hoping that maybe someday it will be alright to be yourselfAnd not exactly like everyone else.That someday it will be alright to be who you really are instead of who everyone else wants you to be.You sit through college.You sit at the bars, drinking when you should be paying your gas bill like everyone else.You don’t mind hearing your name being called out by little Susie who is now just Susan.You think “now’s my chance. I’ve waited forever to say what I want to say”Susan walks over to you.Takes a seat next to you.Her halter-top slides up her tanned back showing that little butterflyOr SunOr Chinese symbols that she has no one idea what it meansTattoo in the small of her backLike you have seen on the small of every single girl’s back in the entire country.But you try and thinking of something more.You try and think of poetry.Something she has never heard before.That one things she has longed for her entire life.This is the moment you have been waiting for;The chance to be you.But then you wonder if that’s being too much.The greatest most original people are always the most alone.So you steal a line you heard your friend use on a girl a week ago Thursday.She laughs.She giggles.She invites you home.You have the same one-night stand that you had a week ago only with a different cast and setting.You write her number down in your address book.Right after the last evening of blasé sex from seven nights ago.You go to your friends’ the next night and share sexual escapades over a keg.Which each of you have told and heard before.You maybe able to tie your shoes,And girls seem to grow immunity to being “icky” and “gross” when you all hit fourteen.But you dare not change anything that matter.You never know when your friends will need someone to play right field.And those swing sets still look very lonely.what do ya think..."