Letter To My Younger Self: 16

You should know the drill by now. For five days straight (this being day three), I am writing a letter to my younger self as a way to reflect, regret, and admire the person I was and am now. You can read my 6 year old self and pre-teen self at those links.

Today I bring you 16 and all of its awkward and downright depressing moments:

Dear Michelle at 16,

Congrats! You've learned how to drive. Dont get used to this glory. About three weeks after getting your license, you will bump into a car while making a left out of a Subway. A year after that, an asshole you went to grade school with will t-bone his truck (equipped with extremely faulty breaks) in to your poor, little Sunfire's driver's side. It will total the car beyond belief.

Pretty close to this picture.

Of course, dad will fix it.

But all the green paint, new wheels, and entire back seat and trunk replacement will not be able to repair the memory of that morning. Even to this day, you will shake when you think about your sister screaming upon impact. You will clam up when someone else is being even just a bit reckless while driving you. And blind left turns, well, you will avoid them at all costs from now on. Even driving in the sun will provoke flashbacks to your car spinning on the dirt road.

At 16, you have no idea what repercussions your actions will have on your current/future self. You wouldn't believe that the "hate list" you began to write with SA would lose you countless of friends and paralyze your ability to walk the halls without judging yourself. You will begin dismissing your warranted anger...

Anger that is typically directed at the boys in your life. Just like at 6, they are as flighty as they come. From the boys you have crushes on, to the ones you actually get to date (oh, you get to date)... they will treat you as if your emotions are invalid or worthless. Remember how everyone says they are after only one thing? No, seriously, remember that. It will come in handy.

Only one will boy will prove his merit and be in your life for more than a year. In fact, he will be in your life for 8. He will be a best friend to you, and he will inspire you to make your boldest leap yet. After a year of knowing him, I'm sure you can figure out who I am talking about as you already sense his importance. Take good care of him. He will need you more than he needs you.

What doesn't need to be fixed is your initiative and ambition. At this point, you could take over the world with that head-strong gumption. You WILL get in to college. You WILL be one of the top students in school. You WILL go to sectionals in oratory and eventually qualify for SCOTTIE. And you WILL go to Europe. Screw the idea of a community college, taking 2nd at Reed Custer behind white pants-mcgee, or staying at home to work for another summer. You are 16 now, and damnit, you are going to get what you always wanted.

You did get it- and more. Your dreams of living independently in the city, a girl with a degree and a plan for her future, couldn't be more true. And it's all because you are determined, excited, and motivated now. Even with a year of pain and disappointment, you will create the building blocks to near perfection.

But one word of advice, when the Christian boy you are madly in love with invites you to Bible study, it's because they need new members, not because he wants to sing sexually suggestive songs about Jesus dying to you. Sorry to blow that.


Love,
Yourself, 6 years later

Banned Equality

I, like many of my friends were saddened by the passing of Prop 8. I remember being at Obama's nomination win in Grant Park and some man sadly delivering the news. It did take away some of the thunder from our liberal storm. But we knew that there would be an appeal. Mormons aren't allowed to win.

So, here I am two-ish years later, receiving the news of Prop 8 being overturned. Of course, I was excited. And the many gay couples that ride my shuttle bus to and from work were overjoyed. I swear I saw a double rainbow that day.

The next day, I spent over two hours reading through Judge Walker's amazingly poignant and straight forward ruling. If you haven't yet found it, check it out. He lays out, word for word, what equality is all about. And he chastises those who would only want to disregard marriage because of religious or moral doctrine. Even those trailer park boys with a 3rd grade reading level (that I went to high school with) could understand it.

But then I come home and read an article about the banning of a book for teenagers called "Revolutionary Voices: A Multicultural Queer Youth Anthology." Apparently, the book was first banned in a local high school by a member of the 9.12 group, an ultra conservative, "pro-family" outfit. One complaint to a public library later, it was removed from shelves. But it wasn't just removed... it was asked to "disappear." It wouldn't even get the dignity of a book fair or a give away bin.



Why? Well, the first woman/overly concerned/brainwashed mother who got it banned cited a 9.12 blogger by calling it "pervasively vulgar, obscene, and inappropriate" and the head of the librarian who asked to Harry Potter it away cited "child pornography." The mother then stated that the book was banned "for the children."

What children is helped with the banning of this book? Of course there will be curious eyes who will get a little giggle out of it, but that's middle school for you. What banning this book does is hurt the children that are questioning their sexuality, that have no one to turn to but a book, those who are ashamed to ask their mothers directly, or those who are frightened to go on the internet and research a bit for fear they will be caught.

By banning this book, we are ostracizing those who need us most. We are not even giving a child a chance to read and discover for himself.

I remember being 14, in the midst of an extremely awkward puberty, and turning to a book called "Deal With It!" It was bright pink and featured a cartoon girl flashing the reader when you opened the book flap. Inside, it talked about everything a teenage girl goes through... from self discovery, to sexual encounters, and even questioning religion. It featured real teenage girls speaking about how they knew they were lesbians or how they dealt with embarrassing hairs done there. And while I got a good, immature laugh out of it, I also turned to that book when I needed it the most.


And with that book, I realized that it was ok to be me - that it was normal to question who I am and the irrational to rational feelings I may feel. It also told me that it was alright to deal with the hard questions and that I was never alone in my struggles.

I guess I am more upset that teenagers who need this book the most will not have access to it. They wont get to feel what a connection to the outside world is. They wont get additional help or another citation in their senior research paper on Prop 8.

It's all one foot forward and two giant leaps back.

Hand Holding

This morning, while walking to my L stop, I saw maybe the cutest old couple walking hand in hand. It was 7:30 in the morning and I was still dreaming of gnomes eating my brains (true nightmare), so I really think that the lack of sleep mixed with the lobotomy performed on me made my heart flutter a bit more when I passed them up.

Maybe it was because I kept replaying that Zales commercial (shout out to my mom who works there) in my spinning head. Have I been that commercial exposed that I now look at two old people strolling as a sign that I need to get to the nearest jewelry store and spend 2 months salary on myself?

God. I hope not.

I could easily write about engagements, but I will spare you that for at least another 2 years. Instead, I'm going to present an ode to holding hands. Even though the Beatles beat me to it, one of my favorite movies mentions it, this article proves it scientifically, and Shakespeare made it famous, I still feel that nothing express romantic interest better than a good hand holding:

Oh, fourth grade love...

The kind that bewilders and excites.

How do I long to press

My fingers with frail might.

It's your sweaty palm, dear

That conjures mental mess

The way your eyes begin to peer

And how your arms will steer

Your dirty digits

To my lotioned fidgets

Embracing one last round.

A perfect fit.

A witty quip.

We walk hand to hand

Ground to ground.

Now, I will admit that I hate writing poetry, but that did incite some little tingles of remembering the first boy I ever walked hand in hand with. We strolled through the mall, rocking our arms back and forth wildly, until we reached the movie theater where our hands didn't depart unless to grab more popcorn.

As I've become older, my hand holding has become more meaningful. I'm one of those girls who will linger until the other one pulls away or falls asleep. I believe in reading palms as a romantic gesture, even if it is just jest. I get goosebumps when someone offers theirs to mine without me going in for the kill first. And frankly, holding hands turns me on much more than a steamy make out session.

Plus, you cant fall down alone when you hold hands. The reciprocated either has to catch you or take the fall with you.