another theory of mine

The other day I went shopping with a friend of mine. This friend is 200 times more elegant than I. I would be a turnip to not admit this outright.

At some point the conversation drifted to high school. We were talking about dresses and talk of dresses spawned talks about prom and other social activities where teenage hormones swoon like bugs to a mint bush.

I told her about one of my theories.
In high school I never brought boys home. At least not in the "meet my parents" sort of way. If there were any boys at my house rest assured they were there to pick something up, drop something off or ask for advice about my friends-whom they typically were dating. Boys did not come to my house in hopes to fondle me. (Ok, so there were a few-but they left real quick when a male member of my family came running out.)

My mother & I were never really on cue when it came to mother daughter talks. I watch a lot of Lifetime & I see the drama unfold before me as a woman takes a 17 year old lover who happens to be her best friends' son. This isn't the part that shocks me, what shocks me is when the mom sits down with the daughter and they have candid conversations about sexuality, about growth and other 'how to be a female' talks.

I missed out on many of those talks. My mom took a job in the east coast when I was in junior high and returned two years later to find I was 'grown'. My grandmother was there for all of that. She was very candid and modern. Her approach to such things was a cross between mysticism and counseling technique. When I got my 'grandma' as we call it my real grandma said, "do you want a Kinaldaa? what do you know about pads and tampons-do you have preference?" (Bite me-it's been at least a couple of years since I've written Navajo for anyone.)

Later she sat me down and told me the things that I needed to cease immediately.
These things included playing tackle football with my brothers and the neighbors. I needed to wear hose with my dresses (if I ever wore one that is) and other such mannerisms.

However there was never talks about how I would interact with boys. There were no, "you'll have these feelings…" talks. I don't necessarily think that I was at a disadvantage-but my personality is a research one. I like to have all available information laid out on the table before deciding. I think it would have benefited me to know that I was not crazy.

My theory is that my mother was terrified I was gay. At first my mom used to brag about how I didn't "bring boys home" and how I wasn't "boy crazy". In a few short months however my mom tried to put make-up on me. She tried to curl my unruly hair. At the time I was horrified at the concept of make-up. My father was there to insist that I not be tainted by eye shadow and mascara. At the time I thought I was being saved.

A year or two later I regretted not taking her up on the offer to chickify me.

My discovery of make-up was a silly half assed one. The approach was this-whenever we had away games or trips with school and sports my best friend and I would attack the sample section of the make-up aisles. I was practically clueless. My friend had more insight into the intricacies of hair curling and foundation application. I'm sure there was more than one occasion where I wore the wrong color and instead of complimenting me it made me look like I was ready to audition for the traveling circus.

Well, on this shopping trip the other day I shared my theory with my friend.

There are truckloads of things to add to my list being a late bloomer and all, but I'll spare you-for now.

I think my problem with my mom started when she noticed all the other girls had sheep corrals promised to their parents & me-well I was still trying to figure out how the hell to tell boys I liked them without outright confessing and asking them to leave me the hell alone. So my mom started dropping hints like a Doberman salivating over a steak taco. The drool was all too apparent to me & it drove me to the brink of insanity.

The final straw was going to school with my little brother & having him tell me I needed to "hurry up and date someone" before I "got desperate". My brother theorized that if I didn't go out with someone I would end up dating some loser from the street where my mom lived. The fact that I was being lectured by my little brother, the school gigolo, made me want to lie beneath a school bus and hope it crushed every major organ in a matter of seconds.

Side note: Never mind that 'dating' didn't actually exist where grew up-I was just supposed to do it.

I wasn't terribly terrified that my mom thought I was gay; I was however concerned that she really didn't know anything about me. I don't think I should have cared much considering I lived with my grandmother and did in fact pass letters to boys in school & felt thump-thumpiness for some of them--but there was that lingering fear that there was something 'wrong' with me.

In small communities different is almost often bad regardless of it's existence. I don't have an issue with the sexual preference of other people, but I do have a problem with labeling.

Later when I did finally pick a boy to kiss and hold hands with in the dark my mom was upset because I didn't strut him around. It didn't help that I showed up at my graduation rehearsal with hickies and didn't produce a boyfriend. But, I've always been of the opinion of better safe than sorry & I didn't foresee the 'relationship' lasting much longer than another few months. It in fact didn't due in part to my paranoia. I suppose no boy wants to stick around a girl who does not take him to her prom or invite him to her graduation. Although he did come around again a year later with the same fawn eyes & gentle manner.

It's funny to think that in a couple of years it'll have been 10 years since I left that town. What's notable is that my mom now bugs me about my inability to pull a screaming troll from my womb. She's not worried that I'm gay anymore but instead she's offended that I'm 'selfish' and don't want something crying after me.

Today someone told me about his mother and how he could never please her. I had to laugh because I completely understand him.

However if I were a mom I think I'd be paranoid too.

posted by Danna Saunders @ 1/11/2005 06:35:00 PM