Oh, How I Wanted To Be Cool!
When I moved to Pittsburgh after tenth grade, I had no plans to continue my drinking and drugging career. Tenth grade had been kind of a disaster; I’d gotten in trouble for drinking, had a very boring time with pills, hated the way alcohol tasted, and didn’t want to continue on that path.
As happened every time I moved, I felt like I was going to get a fresh start in Pittsburgh. I always believed things would be different in a new place with new people. This time, I thought, I was going to do the right things for the right reasons. This time, I was going to be able to be myself. This time, the other kids were finally going to like me. This time, I would be popular.
I didn’t realize that being a square peg from birth affected my ability to fit in with any crowd. And that meant I would never, ever be included with constantly conforming “popular” kids.
So when I moved to Pittsburgh, I went back to doing the things I had enjoyed most in my childhood: going for walks, enjoying nature, and playing with dogs. It was summer time, which was very pleasant.
One day, I walked my dog to the nearby neighborhood park, a tiny place with swings, a slide and a soccer-sized field with a little gazebo in the corner.
Being a teenager, I was too old for the playground; I walked straight toward the field. I had to go around a little grove of trees to get to it – but as I rounded the corner, I nearly stopped dead.
A handful of teenagers were in the gazebo, one of them lumberjack-sized. Another one looked just like Matt Dillon – and later I learned his name was actually Matt. They were all boys.
And I was walking my dog straight toward them, intimidated by their size, beauty and camaraderie.
“Hey!” yelled the lumberjack. “Cute dog!”
“Thanks,” I squeaked. Unless intoxicated, I rarely spoke above a whisper.
“C’mon over here!” someone yelled, and since I had nowhere to hide, I continued to walk that direction. When I reached the group, I was literally shaking. I knew without yet being in school that these were the cool kids, and I had never been accused of being cool.
Oh, how I wanted to be cool!
Given my propensity for shyness and terror, though, I stayed less than three minutes. I had nothing to offer, no wit, no banter. I felt completely lost standing there. I answered their questions: yes, I was new to the neighborhood, how to pronounce my name, blah blah blah. It never occurred to me to ask them anything.
Then I politely whispered, “I have to get the dog home” and turned to go.
As I walked away one of them yelled, “Hey come back when it’s dark! We’re getting some beers!”
And that was a language I understood.
I turned around and gave them my best smile, which probably lasted one-tenth of a second. I gave my most enthusiastic wave, which probably meant my hand barely lifted out of its pocket.
And I knew then and there, I would be back later.
Sometime after dark, I wandered back to the park – this time without my dog. Still scared to death but dying for acceptance, I strolled up to the gazebo. When someone offered me a beer, I took it without another thought.
And I drank at every opportunity thereafter for a decade.