The Mother Of All Days.
Yes, this is another one of those posts about Mother's Day. Yes, I'm going to tell you about my own. It isn't, however, what you'd expect.
My mother and I have never seen eye-to-eye on a lot of things. I value individuality, never denying your nature and just going off into the unknown territory. Screw the social circles if they can't accept one for who they are, mind their own business or simply live and let live. This is where I've committed many of my sins in the eyes of my own mother.
She values what other people think. It's not who you are, it's who you know. In her mindset, you must be able to impress upon people that you are someone to be valued and they must be able to believe this. If you're not standing where the majority are, you must stand with them, despite the cost to the thing that makes you up inside. If it means altering your looks to conform to the masses, you must be ready to do this.
I'd decided a long time ago that I would not be like that. I was brought up on two conflicting camps of thought. In one corner rested the "Be Yourself" way of thinking and in the other, "You Have To Fit In" hysteria was kicking me.
As a child, I knew no better. Sure, I gave it a shot, doing my best to blend into the crowd that mom decided was the best to hang with. Later on, these people would be the popular high-schoolers, class valedictorians, overachievers...and the biggest buncha snotty people I'd just as soon deliver a roundhouse boot to the head a la Chuck Norris. I detested the way these people were later on. Come to think of it, I could say I detested them then too. Still, believing that my mom knew what was right deep down, I trudged into that crowd, was chewed up and spit out with the utmost distaste.
At one point, I'd decided that trying to fit in wasn't working. I began becoming quiet, introverted. I dug a deep hole within myself and retreated within. Sure, I had friends and they weren't many but still, my best friends were my thoughts, books, art, music and things like that. I no longer cared what clothes "The In Crowd" was wearing. I still don't. I began a search for my own identity. After failed attempt after failed attempt to mold my identity to fit in, I'd decided that being myself was the only option with which I was left. The few friends I had, our friendships grew tighter. We hated "cliques" and their detestable behavior that was nothing short of socially barbaric but we failed to see that we were a clique in and of ourselves. Fights were more and more common, moreso with my friends than me and better believe I stepped in if one went down. You messed with one of us, you messed with all of us.
We cut our teeth on Guns N' Roses, Skid Row, Def Leppard. We progressed to Metallica, Megadeth and Anthrax. We descended into Cannibal Corpse, Alice In Chains, Six Feet Under and we did it together before realizing that slowly, we were branching off. One developed a taste for Pantera, Lamb Of God and the louder grindcore bands that were out there. You may know him as Dave Ferguson, the lead vocalist of From Ruin. Another developed a taste for more mainstream rock like The Dave Matthews Band and most of what's played on FM radio today. I found out a few weeks ago, he'd come out of a five-month drug rehab. I, on the other hand, delved into Nine Inch Nails, Marilyn Manson, Cradle Of Filth and things of a much darker flavor.
My mom and I, however, began butting heads waaaaaaay before all of that. It got worse as time progressed.
Despite the fact that I studied as much as I possibly could, maintained a grade point average that was acceptable (C+ until senior year which came out to a near 4.0) and abided by my word, remembering from the movie Scarface, "The only two things I got in this world are my word and my balls and I don't break niether of them for nobody." I still caught flack.
At first, it was the hair length. I was growing it out. That was the style for us and I wanted it as long as I could possibly get it. To me, that was cool. Black clothing kept me from mismatching colors, a feat that, to this day, I still have not perfected, nor do I wish to do so. Band logos splattered across the shirts with hellish designs and menacing writings were a defense mechanism for me. By the time my senior year came around, I had no fear of what I called "those lamefuck in-crowd pricks." I became razor-tongued and nasty with them but was polite and respectful to anyone in authority and anyone who was the same in turn to me. By the time high-school ended for me, I had a small following of freshmen and sophomores who were asking for my advice on what to do when someone started rumors about them. I was still the target of the devil-worshipper rumors and when the vampire cult thing happened in Florida and touched home in Baton Rouge, somehow, the collective mentality was that it was my fault. I had enough good come along to balance out the bad and my dad was a great supporter. He backed my play step-by-struggling step and never faltered once.
It was my mom who didn't. My reputation in high school was what was going to be my reputation for the rest of my natural (unnatural?) life, in her mind. She continuously made references to me "looking like a stoner" though I had yet to lay eyes on my a joint. I was more experimental then. I looked to other outlets. I wasn't interested in drugs. I was more interested in the things they taught us to keep away from in my catechism classes like metal music and Dungeons & Dragons. I still, to this day, do not understand why they're not better educated on matters of the occult or music. To me, saying that these forms of entertainment cause people to do nasty things is like blaming spoons for someone's obesity.
My mom was certain that I had depression and anger problems, perhaps she's right but I'd like to think that I've done a damned good job in handling those issues myself. I cannot count the times her and I've had the verbal knock-down, drag-out. I cannot count the times, which I'm sure rank higher, that I simply stormed away, hopped on my trusty mountain bike and sailed on into the night on a collision course for nowhere other than just to get the hell away from her. I dare not recall the rather angry, bitter and vengeful words between us or why I thought she was intellectually inept for not understanding why I didn't like this town or the people in it.
To be certain there was a tremendous power-play between her and I upon my decision made to move out of their home and into this house. I know that the decision was made after three panic attacks that day and Zeph appealing to my rationale that she technically couldn't tell me how to live my life.
I'll admit the things I've said, done and even said to her were not the best. Hell, I know they weren't good and, while she can worry about every little detail ad nauseum at times, I have to admit some things.
1. She meant well. In her mind, establishing a firm, good and decent reputation out of the gate probably would have helped me in a lot of areas.
2. She was kind enough to bring me into this world. I was an accident. My dad had other plans, he wasn't wanting kids but when she found herself pregnant with me, both got together and stayed together to make sure I grew up well-adjusted. I'd like to think that they succeeded in staying together and raising me but, Mom, Dad, Sorry...I'm too damned maladjusted by nature.
3. There were no excuses or regrets for sacrifices made to raise me or my siblings. Period and I'm damned proud of them for that.
4. No matter what Mom did, she did it out of love for me and I can't deny that. As much as it aggravates the living shit out of me at times, she does try.
The point is this, no matter what has happened between you and your parents (especially Mom) today is the day to tell them what they mean to you, what they meant to you and how much of a part of your life and character makup they've been. None of us are guaranteed tomorrow and it's arrogant of us to think that we're owed tomorrow. No, this is wrong. Today, if nothing else, let your mom know you love her. I know I love mine...dearly so...even if she does come across as neurotic to me at times, I still love the hell out of her and wouldn't trade her for the world and all it's wealth and power.
Mom, you've brought a deviant into this world, a terrorist and a force that cannot die. Each of my deeds that I have done in this world is what you've made both good and bad. I'm not the type that prides myself on the bad things I've done and I'd hope you take pride in the achievements I've made. I'm still making more. I might be crazy. I might be insane. I might even have deeply-seeded issues for which I should seek professional help but the truth behind it is, if I did that, I'd cease to be within my own awareness. I understand if you can't bring yourself to back my actions of staying here through the hurricane because of my job and living through the crappy aftermath. I understand if you can't figure out why I stick so faithfully to this internet radio thing. I understand if you can't comprehend why I don't work during the day or even go out much while the sun shines upon the rest of the world. All I ask is that you understand that I feel that I have things I have to do. I have information, a world of it and I have a responsibility to share that, to wake people up to what reality truly is...stranger than fiction. The worlds we live in are one and the same, yet different only in perspective. My way is the way of highest intensity and an overbearing desire to push the envelope and take advantage of each and every moment I have. At times it's internally violent. Sometimes, it's savage. Sometimes, it's the most frightening of things that anyone can do. You and Dad taught me not to live in fear, Mom. You and Dad taught me personal responsibility and speaking up for what I believe was right. I may have been foolish in my choice of battles and friends but when has anyone ever been perfect in that, right? Just understand that I have to do this. This is what you made of me and I just hope that you're proud of it and you see that my intentions are not insane...just my methods. If you understand nothing else, understand that I love you and I hope this Mother's Day is the happiest you've ever had.
My mother and I have never seen eye-to-eye on a lot of things. I value individuality, never denying your nature and just going off into the unknown territory. Screw the social circles if they can't accept one for who they are, mind their own business or simply live and let live. This is where I've committed many of my sins in the eyes of my own mother.
She values what other people think. It's not who you are, it's who you know. In her mindset, you must be able to impress upon people that you are someone to be valued and they must be able to believe this. If you're not standing where the majority are, you must stand with them, despite the cost to the thing that makes you up inside. If it means altering your looks to conform to the masses, you must be ready to do this.
I'd decided a long time ago that I would not be like that. I was brought up on two conflicting camps of thought. In one corner rested the "Be Yourself" way of thinking and in the other, "You Have To Fit In" hysteria was kicking me.
As a child, I knew no better. Sure, I gave it a shot, doing my best to blend into the crowd that mom decided was the best to hang with. Later on, these people would be the popular high-schoolers, class valedictorians, overachievers...and the biggest buncha snotty people I'd just as soon deliver a roundhouse boot to the head a la Chuck Norris. I detested the way these people were later on. Come to think of it, I could say I detested them then too. Still, believing that my mom knew what was right deep down, I trudged into that crowd, was chewed up and spit out with the utmost distaste.
At one point, I'd decided that trying to fit in wasn't working. I began becoming quiet, introverted. I dug a deep hole within myself and retreated within. Sure, I had friends and they weren't many but still, my best friends were my thoughts, books, art, music and things like that. I no longer cared what clothes "The In Crowd" was wearing. I still don't. I began a search for my own identity. After failed attempt after failed attempt to mold my identity to fit in, I'd decided that being myself was the only option with which I was left. The few friends I had, our friendships grew tighter. We hated "cliques" and their detestable behavior that was nothing short of socially barbaric but we failed to see that we were a clique in and of ourselves. Fights were more and more common, moreso with my friends than me and better believe I stepped in if one went down. You messed with one of us, you messed with all of us.
We cut our teeth on Guns N' Roses, Skid Row, Def Leppard. We progressed to Metallica, Megadeth and Anthrax. We descended into Cannibal Corpse, Alice In Chains, Six Feet Under and we did it together before realizing that slowly, we were branching off. One developed a taste for Pantera, Lamb Of God and the louder grindcore bands that were out there. You may know him as Dave Ferguson, the lead vocalist of From Ruin. Another developed a taste for more mainstream rock like The Dave Matthews Band and most of what's played on FM radio today. I found out a few weeks ago, he'd come out of a five-month drug rehab. I, on the other hand, delved into Nine Inch Nails, Marilyn Manson, Cradle Of Filth and things of a much darker flavor.
My mom and I, however, began butting heads waaaaaaay before all of that. It got worse as time progressed.
Despite the fact that I studied as much as I possibly could, maintained a grade point average that was acceptable (C+ until senior year which came out to a near 4.0) and abided by my word, remembering from the movie Scarface, "The only two things I got in this world are my word and my balls and I don't break niether of them for nobody." I still caught flack.
At first, it was the hair length. I was growing it out. That was the style for us and I wanted it as long as I could possibly get it. To me, that was cool. Black clothing kept me from mismatching colors, a feat that, to this day, I still have not perfected, nor do I wish to do so. Band logos splattered across the shirts with hellish designs and menacing writings were a defense mechanism for me. By the time my senior year came around, I had no fear of what I called "those lamefuck in-crowd pricks." I became razor-tongued and nasty with them but was polite and respectful to anyone in authority and anyone who was the same in turn to me. By the time high-school ended for me, I had a small following of freshmen and sophomores who were asking for my advice on what to do when someone started rumors about them. I was still the target of the devil-worshipper rumors and when the vampire cult thing happened in Florida and touched home in Baton Rouge, somehow, the collective mentality was that it was my fault. I had enough good come along to balance out the bad and my dad was a great supporter. He backed my play step-by-struggling step and never faltered once.
It was my mom who didn't. My reputation in high school was what was going to be my reputation for the rest of my natural (unnatural?) life, in her mind. She continuously made references to me "looking like a stoner" though I had yet to lay eyes on my a joint. I was more experimental then. I looked to other outlets. I wasn't interested in drugs. I was more interested in the things they taught us to keep away from in my catechism classes like metal music and Dungeons & Dragons. I still, to this day, do not understand why they're not better educated on matters of the occult or music. To me, saying that these forms of entertainment cause people to do nasty things is like blaming spoons for someone's obesity.
My mom was certain that I had depression and anger problems, perhaps she's right but I'd like to think that I've done a damned good job in handling those issues myself. I cannot count the times her and I've had the verbal knock-down, drag-out. I cannot count the times, which I'm sure rank higher, that I simply stormed away, hopped on my trusty mountain bike and sailed on into the night on a collision course for nowhere other than just to get the hell away from her. I dare not recall the rather angry, bitter and vengeful words between us or why I thought she was intellectually inept for not understanding why I didn't like this town or the people in it.
To be certain there was a tremendous power-play between her and I upon my decision made to move out of their home and into this house. I know that the decision was made after three panic attacks that day and Zeph appealing to my rationale that she technically couldn't tell me how to live my life.
I'll admit the things I've said, done and even said to her were not the best. Hell, I know they weren't good and, while she can worry about every little detail ad nauseum at times, I have to admit some things.
1. She meant well. In her mind, establishing a firm, good and decent reputation out of the gate probably would have helped me in a lot of areas.
2. She was kind enough to bring me into this world. I was an accident. My dad had other plans, he wasn't wanting kids but when she found herself pregnant with me, both got together and stayed together to make sure I grew up well-adjusted. I'd like to think that they succeeded in staying together and raising me but, Mom, Dad, Sorry...I'm too damned maladjusted by nature.
3. There were no excuses or regrets for sacrifices made to raise me or my siblings. Period and I'm damned proud of them for that.
4. No matter what Mom did, she did it out of love for me and I can't deny that. As much as it aggravates the living shit out of me at times, she does try.
The point is this, no matter what has happened between you and your parents (especially Mom) today is the day to tell them what they mean to you, what they meant to you and how much of a part of your life and character makup they've been. None of us are guaranteed tomorrow and it's arrogant of us to think that we're owed tomorrow. No, this is wrong. Today, if nothing else, let your mom know you love her. I know I love mine...dearly so...even if she does come across as neurotic to me at times, I still love the hell out of her and wouldn't trade her for the world and all it's wealth and power.
Mom, you've brought a deviant into this world, a terrorist and a force that cannot die. Each of my deeds that I have done in this world is what you've made both good and bad. I'm not the type that prides myself on the bad things I've done and I'd hope you take pride in the achievements I've made. I'm still making more. I might be crazy. I might be insane. I might even have deeply-seeded issues for which I should seek professional help but the truth behind it is, if I did that, I'd cease to be within my own awareness. I understand if you can't bring yourself to back my actions of staying here through the hurricane because of my job and living through the crappy aftermath. I understand if you can't figure out why I stick so faithfully to this internet radio thing. I understand if you can't comprehend why I don't work during the day or even go out much while the sun shines upon the rest of the world. All I ask is that you understand that I feel that I have things I have to do. I have information, a world of it and I have a responsibility to share that, to wake people up to what reality truly is...stranger than fiction. The worlds we live in are one and the same, yet different only in perspective. My way is the way of highest intensity and an overbearing desire to push the envelope and take advantage of each and every moment I have. At times it's internally violent. Sometimes, it's savage. Sometimes, it's the most frightening of things that anyone can do. You and Dad taught me not to live in fear, Mom. You and Dad taught me personal responsibility and speaking up for what I believe was right. I may have been foolish in my choice of battles and friends but when has anyone ever been perfect in that, right? Just understand that I have to do this. This is what you made of me and I just hope that you're proud of it and you see that my intentions are not insane...just my methods. If you understand nothing else, understand that I love you and I hope this Mother's Day is the happiest you've ever had.
"Let my heart go....let your son grow
Mama let my heart go...or let this heart be still..."
-Metallica "Mama Said"
Mama let my heart go...or let this heart be still..."
-Metallica "Mama Said"
posted by Lord Genocyde at 7:48 AM
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