Turn, Or Burn.....and Val Kilmer
In high school, I was the poster child for Golden Children - straight A's, choir, AP classes, Captain of the Speech Team, and teachers' pet. Never mind that my mother taught in my building, making it impossible for me to get in trouble (because we all know that the punishment the school doled out paled in comparison to what you'd get at home). In fact, so what if she was my teacher for two classes?
Case in point....
My first boyfriend. Junior year. He was a senior, and we had been friends since junior high choir. He drove a wrecked Dodge Daytona (I'm sure my father loved that part), and unbeknownst to me, was a smoker. I was head over heels. To me, he was a rebellious guy with a heart (and a singing voice) of gold. To my mother, I'm sure he looked like the devil waiting to steal her daughter's virtue. So when she observed him wearing my new class ring in class on his pinky finger (we were in love and oh so cool), she stopped class and scolded him, "I did NOT just pay $300 for you to wear that ring on your finger!" Imagine my mortification as that news traveled the halls.
Almost as bad as when she sent the football team - who were all in her first hour class - to serenade me in my Chem class with "You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling" while gifting me a vending machine brownie perched atop an upside-down Bunson burner. Or the time I had to pull her out of typing class my freshman year because I (finally) got my period, and she left her students (again...the football team), to come out in the hall and gush, "My baby got her period!"
But there were other times I was thankful to have her in my building. I never had to use the student restrooms because the teachers were fine to let me sneak into the teachers' lounge and use theirs (hence, I had no idea how pot smelled until I was in college). I could microwave my lunch in her classroom microwave, and she always kept Pepsi in her classroom minifridge.
Then there was that day during my sophomore year when I was really glad she was there. March 10, 1993. It was club day and students circulated the halls visiting their various clubs. There had been a car accident with two students on their way to school that morning - a brother and sister.
My best friend, Cathy, and her brother. Speeding along in his Camero. Head on impact.
They were both killed. Thrown from the car. Less than a mile from school.
When the counselors brought my friends and I - her close circle - into the drivers' ed room, my mom was there, crying. That day, she wasn't just my mom, she was mom to all my friends - Angie, Stacy, Andy, Meighan - as well as a support to her own friends, who lost two students that day.
She cried and cried. That day, I was glad she was in my building.
It was during that time that I began to stretch my teenage legs. I plastered my bedroom wall with 'sexy' posters of Joey McIntyre and Jordan Knight (New Kids on the Block - yes, I'm still a Blockhead), and questioned my friends who were losing their virginity in the back seat of station wagons.
But still, I stuffed tracks in lockers, urging my fellow sinners to 'Turn or Burn,' and led prayer meetings every Monday morning in the wrestling room. Despite that there is not an athletic bone in my body, I helped start a chapter of Fellowship of Christian Athletes my junior year.
I stayed out of trouble, even when my parents announced that they were splitting up and we had to move after my junior year to a smaller house on the outskirts of town. My mom had primary custody of us, and I still remember seeing my dad sit on the fireplace hearth in the basement, head in his hands, and ask me why I didn't want to go live with him. But I knew I didn't want to leave my sister, and I also knew that until my parents separated, I didn't have a memory of my dad coming to a choir concert or speech tournament - but my mom was at every one of them.
Their divorce was a shock to me - to everyone, I think, including my dad - because they never fought. They also never showed affection. So at the age of 16, I knew what marriage should look like, based on what my parents' did not look like - it should look like passionate arguments and passionate...well...passion.
When my First Love left me for another girl (after 2 months of pressuring me to 'give it up' to him), my heart was broken - and ready to prove to him that he'd made a mistake.
Cue Val Kilmer.
Not the real Val Kilmer. His 20-year-old doppleganger, in the form of my best friend's boyfriend's roommate. I met him at her parents' 20th wedding anniversary reception, when he tapped my bare shoulder and invited me to dance with him - specifically, to jitterbug with him. He flung me around and literally swept me off my feet. He was tall, blonde and blue-eyed with a hint of a drawl. He looked like Val Kilmer - the Batman version - not the stoned and fat version (although, coincidentally, thanks to the magic of Facebook, I can confirm that he and Val aged in similar fashion).
I was a goner, and so was my stubbornly-held virginity, a week later. A 2-minute experience that I stupidly documented in my diary...which my mother read.....leading to what will go down as the Worst Senior Year Between a Mother and Daughter In All History. Fights, threats, tears, and a whole lot of sneaking around (me) and detective work (Mom).
Was he worth it? No. Hardly. He dumped me for his ex-girlfriend. I found out by counting condoms in his nightstand and realizing that a few had gone missing....
Thankfully, a cute coworker was there and readily available to pick up the pieces. He was amazing - kind, funny, caring, fun, devoted. But two weeks before I was to go off to college, he abruptly dumped me without explanation. That one devastated me to my core, drawing me back home every weekend of my first year of college, determined that if I could just be there, I could show him it could work. Yes, friends, codependency had taken root and was springing a tiny little seedling.
In case you're counting -
Boyfriends: 3
Heartbreaks: 3
College Transfers to Move Closer to Home In Order to Force a Reunion: 1
Lasting loves: Big Fat ZERO
But I was just getting started...
Case in point....
My first boyfriend. Junior year. He was a senior, and we had been friends since junior high choir. He drove a wrecked Dodge Daytona (I'm sure my father loved that part), and unbeknownst to me, was a smoker. I was head over heels. To me, he was a rebellious guy with a heart (and a singing voice) of gold. To my mother, I'm sure he looked like the devil waiting to steal her daughter's virtue. So when she observed him wearing my new class ring in class on his pinky finger (we were in love and oh so cool), she stopped class and scolded him, "I did NOT just pay $300 for you to wear that ring on your finger!" Imagine my mortification as that news traveled the halls.
Almost as bad as when she sent the football team - who were all in her first hour class - to serenade me in my Chem class with "You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling" while gifting me a vending machine brownie perched atop an upside-down Bunson burner. Or the time I had to pull her out of typing class my freshman year because I (finally) got my period, and she left her students (again...the football team), to come out in the hall and gush, "My baby got her period!"
But there were other times I was thankful to have her in my building. I never had to use the student restrooms because the teachers were fine to let me sneak into the teachers' lounge and use theirs (hence, I had no idea how pot smelled until I was in college). I could microwave my lunch in her classroom microwave, and she always kept Pepsi in her classroom minifridge.
Then there was that day during my sophomore year when I was really glad she was there. March 10, 1993. It was club day and students circulated the halls visiting their various clubs. There had been a car accident with two students on their way to school that morning - a brother and sister.
My best friend, Cathy, and her brother. Speeding along in his Camero. Head on impact.
They were both killed. Thrown from the car. Less than a mile from school.
When the counselors brought my friends and I - her close circle - into the drivers' ed room, my mom was there, crying. That day, she wasn't just my mom, she was mom to all my friends - Angie, Stacy, Andy, Meighan - as well as a support to her own friends, who lost two students that day.
She cried and cried. That day, I was glad she was in my building.
It was during that time that I began to stretch my teenage legs. I plastered my bedroom wall with 'sexy' posters of Joey McIntyre and Jordan Knight (New Kids on the Block - yes, I'm still a Blockhead), and questioned my friends who were losing their virginity in the back seat of station wagons.
But still, I stuffed tracks in lockers, urging my fellow sinners to 'Turn or Burn,' and led prayer meetings every Monday morning in the wrestling room. Despite that there is not an athletic bone in my body, I helped start a chapter of Fellowship of Christian Athletes my junior year.
I stayed out of trouble, even when my parents announced that they were splitting up and we had to move after my junior year to a smaller house on the outskirts of town. My mom had primary custody of us, and I still remember seeing my dad sit on the fireplace hearth in the basement, head in his hands, and ask me why I didn't want to go live with him. But I knew I didn't want to leave my sister, and I also knew that until my parents separated, I didn't have a memory of my dad coming to a choir concert or speech tournament - but my mom was at every one of them.
Their divorce was a shock to me - to everyone, I think, including my dad - because they never fought. They also never showed affection. So at the age of 16, I knew what marriage should look like, based on what my parents' did not look like - it should look like passionate arguments and passionate...well...passion.
When my First Love left me for another girl (after 2 months of pressuring me to 'give it up' to him), my heart was broken - and ready to prove to him that he'd made a mistake.
Cue Val Kilmer.
Not the real Val Kilmer. His 20-year-old doppleganger, in the form of my best friend's boyfriend's roommate. I met him at her parents' 20th wedding anniversary reception, when he tapped my bare shoulder and invited me to dance with him - specifically, to jitterbug with him. He flung me around and literally swept me off my feet. He was tall, blonde and blue-eyed with a hint of a drawl. He looked like Val Kilmer - the Batman version - not the stoned and fat version (although, coincidentally, thanks to the magic of Facebook, I can confirm that he and Val aged in similar fashion).
I was a goner, and so was my stubbornly-held virginity, a week later. A 2-minute experience that I stupidly documented in my diary...which my mother read.....leading to what will go down as the Worst Senior Year Between a Mother and Daughter In All History. Fights, threats, tears, and a whole lot of sneaking around (me) and detective work (Mom).
Was he worth it? No. Hardly. He dumped me for his ex-girlfriend. I found out by counting condoms in his nightstand and realizing that a few had gone missing....
Thankfully, a cute coworker was there and readily available to pick up the pieces. He was amazing - kind, funny, caring, fun, devoted. But two weeks before I was to go off to college, he abruptly dumped me without explanation. That one devastated me to my core, drawing me back home every weekend of my first year of college, determined that if I could just be there, I could show him it could work. Yes, friends, codependency had taken root and was springing a tiny little seedling.
In case you're counting -
Boyfriends: 3
Heartbreaks: 3
College Transfers to Move Closer to Home In Order to Force a Reunion: 1
Lasting loves: Big Fat ZERO
But I was just getting started...
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