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madirose-loudparachute-blog · 6 years

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Fade Away

(March 12, 2018)

Every girl goes through a phase of sparkles and jewels. Whether her parents support it or not, every single piece of equipment that she solely owns, becomes highlighted by stick-on gems and decked with glitter. Some superstars pledge only to the pink extreme: cellphones, journals, gel pens, headbands, window ledges. It does not matter what the shape or size; as long as there is a surface to be covered, you can bet your hard earned dollars, it will be, in bubble gum pink glory. The rest of the female middle schoolers, by default of poorer parents or just a more on-the-fence color representative, welcomed in any rainbow hue. Perhaps their laptop lids and tennis shoe tongues varied in shade of the Crayola crayon box, but at least their items still sparkled in the sunshine like the pink queens.

I grew up in the category of poorer parents. My single mother did not see the importance behind fitting in with the ever-changing fads and trends of the world, exemplified only because the media caught wind of something extraordinary and ran away with it. There were times that I and my sister would be standing in the Shop ‘N’ Save line with our mom, holding armfuls of groceries and the little girl in front of us, decked out in the latest tv show merchandise and sporting magenta streaks in her elementary ponytail hair, would be rambling on and on about her upcoming birthday, exclusively themed by the new Bratz movie. Distinctly, I remember one such occasion where my younger sister became instant friends with another shopper’s kid, just because she was outgoing and could strike up a conversation with anyone. I have no idea what quality they had bonded over but it was certainly not musical tastes, because when the girl ran her fuchsia painted fingernails through her bobbed brown hair and asked my sister what her favorite Hannah Montana song was, my sister’s face turned blank. This Disney superstar mention was just one more reminder of the distance with which my mother kept my sister and I from the world.

At the time, I was not resentful. So I had never seen Miley Cyrus in concert, but I had ridden several horses in the down countryside of Union, about an hour or so from my house. I knew what a strawberry plant looked like from having one of my own in our backyard and I had experienced the opportunity to pluck yellow corn husks from an actual cornfield and safely slipped through an electric fence without getting electrocuted. I felt like I was seeing the world. What other little girl gets to have normal kid hangouts in a cul-de-sac, drawing city plans with chalk on the concrete, but also feed goats by hand with just a rickety old wooden fence between us?

When I got to high school, I was still completing my classes at home with my mother as teacher and principal combined, as it had always been since I was born. I took great pride in the fact that I did, however, have a choir director who was not related to me in any way, shape or form. Although every one of the other students had their parents for teachers, just like me, at least I fit in. During this saga, however, I finally became aware of the outside world that I believed I had missed out on. In my free time, I would half the hours typing fiction stories on my computer’s documents and the rest of the time, scouring the internet for yearly highlights I may have been denied. So, while any normal junior and senior on my neighborhood street were sneaking out of their windows at midnight, to smoke a rolled blunt or taste alcohol on their red tongues for the fiftieth time, I was cuddled up under my feather comforter, laughing myself to sleep with a Disney Channel tv show. Every playlist that streamed in my ears during homework had something to do with famous pop bands, whose debut albums I had all but been unaware of a mere four years ago when they officially first hit Hollywood, but in the present time, I was attempting to prove the entertainment world wrong. That, although radio stations only stuck with the newest Top 40 hits, there was absolutely nothing absurd with falling in love all over again with amateur sounds.

The clashing between this new social media world and the naturalistic one that I grew up on, aggravated me on an emotional level. It bothered me that my mother had kept me away from the billboard charts and screaming fangirl traffic. My swirling mind asked questions like, why did my mother think she could control my likes and dislikes? What if I could have been on the most wanted list for New York City’s runway models, but I will never know because my parents did not see any positive merit from that life? Torn and confused, I continued soaking up every bit of fashion, style and gossip news that I could. Perhaps I had no autographs to prove to the population that I was cool, but at least I was up to date on all the latest presses. When Facebook digs deep in the whirlpool of past stupidity, I could truthfully share the posts about rainbow rubber band bracelets, and agree with the world that it was a lame movement. I might not have been a twelve-year-old with pink glitter on every eyelash, but I had experienced some of the fads too, in my own quiet corner, I was sure.

Now that I am older and living on my own, I see that my desire to prove the world, and my mom, wrong, has stuck with me in very major ways. Quietly, I spent half my graduation money on cds and a guitar pick necklace from my favorite high school band, pleased to place myself in the category of purchasing fangirl. My cds would stream from my car and the necklace would lay against my chest in ultimate proof that I was just as cool as everyone else. But my mother no longer rode in the same vehicle as me and I did not see anyone “popular”, outside of my community college realm. When I accomplished the goal of dwelling completely independent from parental aid and was solely in charge of my finances, I enjoyed the freedom of swiping my debit card towards anything my little girl heart yearned for. Concert tickets, hair dye, Starbucks, lip gloss; if it created a sense of trend in me, I wanted it. I may be broke for a little while, but I was happy.

Unfortunately, rainbow sparkles and glitter glue does not mold an individual into the adult they will be near future. All the pink puffy fluff in the world does not guarantee financial success, nor does hiding away in a bedroom, resenting a mother’s role in your life, perpetrate positive vibes. Growing up, I may have missed out on exotic theme parties and mini manicures, but I learned the value of patience when applying myself to the world, when expectantly watching and waiting for the garden plants to sprout fruit. So I never beamed at the sight of the Jonas Brothers on stage, but I witnessed the blessing of having real friends with which to make memories with. As an adult, I may not agree with everything my mom chose to offer or deny during my childhood, but there are still silver linings, nonetheless. And that is a fad that will never fade away.

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