Three Little Words

            Three little words defined my adolescence:  “no” and “you can’t”.  They were uttered in response to almost every question I asked my parents, unless the question was, “Can we get to church a little early?” or “Is it okay if I sit in that chair over there and quietly read a book?”

            My parents’ religious beliefs were the backbone of our household, and while in many ways this was a good thing, and something I am now grateful for, they came with a multitude of restrictions.  Bearing in mind, in junior high and high school, the safest course of action is to assimilate and it is the fervent desire of many teenagers to feel like you belong.   I already stuck out like a sore thumb.   The many things I was not allowed to do made me stand out even more from my peers.

            For starters, I was underweight and underdeveloped, which meant I was teased by the girls and irrelevant to the boys.  More on this later.

            I was also, like both of my parents, painfully shy.  Join a club?  Not unless held by a gunpoint and convinced the person wielding the weapon actually had the balls to pull the trigger.  I didn’t make friends easily and wasn’t comfortable around more than one or two at a time- this pretty much left me out of the party circuit.  Honestly, if I’d actually been invited to that sort of thing, I’d probably have been struck numb with terror.  To this day, I avoid any and all large group gatherings like the plague- baby showers and weddings, included.  “I’ll send a gift” is my mantra.

            Let’s start with what I could do.  I could, with proper screening, including the family’s religious affiliations, and a thorough background check to ensure the home free of alcohol and firearms, spend the night at a friend’s house.  I could occasionally have a friend over to spend the night at my own.  I could talk on the phone.

            At nearly 16, I was allowed to begin dating.  My parents’ version of dating went like this:  they were introduced to the boy, he picked me up at the door and returned me 60-90 minutes later.  I hate to be the bearer of bad news here, but there are only so many things teenagers can accomplish in 90 minutes or less, travel time included.  A movie and dinner aren’t two of them.

            Besides, I wasn’t allowed to go to the movies- they were sinful.  The bowling alley was out, as well.  It was a den of sin.  Dancing was not an approved activity either-  the pressing together of all those bodies would surely incite sinful acts.   I had been able to go to the 7^th grade Halloween Dance by reframing it the 7^th grade Halloween Party.  That might have been my first experiment in lying for my freedom.  It worked like a charm.  My parents would have been happy to know I committed no sins that night (well, other than lying to get there in the first place, insert wry grin, here...have some irony, it's good for your soul).  I drank punch, slow danced once with a boy who was every bit as terrified as I was, and spent the rest of the night in an awkward little clump of girls who were trying to not to be obvious as they glanced sideways at the boys to see if they were watching them from their own little awkward clumps.

            I really wasn’t supposed to wear makeup, but I got away with small amounts, and kept about 17 lipsticks at my purse at all times to put on in the school bathroom.  I still carry about 17 lipsticks in my purse to this day.  Some scars run deep, and I draw the line at my right to wear cosmetics.

            I also wasn’t allowed to wear jewelry of any kind.  This, of course, led to my sick compulsion as an adult to leave the house adorned like a Christmas tree decorated by second graders.  More is more will always be my motto.  Bob’s mom took me to the mall on my 18^th birthday and got my ears pierced.  It was a coming of age moment.  I was already the family pariah, living in sin with a boy they didn’t approve of- might as well go whole hog and desecrate my body, as well.  I couldn’t have been happier.

            Even when my ears got infected –oozing pus and sore to the touch– I would not renounce my joy.  I had a little flowered jewelry box and about 10 pairs of cheap earrings (hence the infection) that I could choose from.  I could accessorize.  I could express myself according to my mood.  Nothing could go wrong in this brave new world.  Any pain or sacrifice was worth the ability to make my own choices.  Wasn’t it?