1991
1991
Back then it was easier to be vulnerable. If someone asked how you felt, you just said it. And maybe you would be made fun of but you didn't censor your answer or pretend to not care. You cared. And you cared a lot. About a lot of things. You cared about your friends, your food, your clothes, your teachers. You were learning to become popular or how to become weird in your own way. Or you were learning how to not be noticed at all. Maybe you wore all black and your hair covered your face entirely. Maybe you were starving for attention. You didn't really listen to your teachers. But you also did listen. Sometimes you really listened and took with you something. Maybe a teacher told you that you were talented at something, and you never forgot it. All the while telling your friends that Mr. Miller was weird for singling you out. Back then you might still ride the bus and now that you weren't in 7th grade anymore you could sit in the back and talk to the high school kids. The bus driver would play hard rock and Proud to Be an American played on the radio almost everyday after school like clockwork. And you were proud to be an American. Desert Storm was dousing your childhood in gasoline, but it didn't make much sense to you then. You sang along to the song because, well, it had a good tune. You wanted to be a child again sometimes back then. But you also really wanted to grow up.
It's kind of how I feel now.
Back then you'd step off the school bus and grab a basketball. And your dad might play a game with you. You didn't have to care about growing up. You could just play until the sun went down and start over the next day.
Back then it was easier to be vulnerable. If someone asked how you felt, you just said it. And maybe you would be made fun of but you didn't censor your answer or pretend to not care. You cared. And you cared a lot. About a lot of things. You cared about your friends, your food, your clothes, your teachers. You were learning to become popular or how to become weird in your own way. Or you were learning how to not be noticed at all. Maybe you wore all black and your hair covered your face entirely. Maybe you were starving for attention. You didn't really listen to your teachers. But you also did listen. Sometimes you really listened and took with you something. Maybe a teacher told you that you were talented at something, and you never forgot it. All the while telling your friends that Mr. Miller was weird for singling you out. Back then you might still ride the bus and now that you weren't in 7th grade anymore you could sit in the back and talk to the high school kids. The bus driver would play hard rock and Proud to Be an American played on the radio almost everyday after school like clockwork. And you were proud to be an American. Desert Storm was dousing your childhood in gasoline, but it didn't make much sense to you then. You sang along to the song because, well, it had a good tune. You wanted to be a child again sometimes back then. But you also really wanted to grow up.
It's kind of how I feel now.
Back then you'd step off the school bus and grab a basketball. And your dad might play a game with you. You didn't have to care about growing up. You could just play until the sun went down and start over the next day.
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