I Wanna Be Somebody, Be Somebody Toooooo

When Devon first moved here, there were many awkward moments while we were getting to know one another. I wasn't always the cool, sophisticated paragon of wit that you all know and love, so I reverted back to my painful adolescent self-consciousness. I was extremely nervous that he would think I was a complete idiot. Because of this, I could often be found hovering around him, wringing my hands and sweating.

I have always been very passionate about music. My taste is all over the place, thanks to my parents, and I have been laughed at on more than one occasion for my collection of Kenny Rogers cd's.

Fuck you.

One day, I walked in to find Devon perusing my CD collection and my heart stopped.

Here we go. This is where he disowns me as his mother.

"Mom...what's A Perfect Circle?"

"You don't know? Wow. Do you know who Tool is?"

"No. And is Korn any good?"

"My God. What did they do? Make you listen to show tunes?"

"No. Just the radio. Mostly pop stuff."

"Good grief. The horror."

"Who's Neil Diamond?"

"You're much too young for that. You're not ready. Grab some Sevendust and Godsmack and follow me. We'll start light."

Since then, he has developed taste that is very much like mine. He still likes the occasional rap song and I tolerate it by screaming at the top of my lungs for him to turn that ridiculous shit off, but, for the most part, we agree on just about everything.

Additionally, he thinks I'm utterly cool. This is validation like I cannot begin to explain. But I'll try.

In junior high and high school I was a complete outcast. I was different in every way imaginable. My nomadic upbringing had exposed me to many cultures and I had taken away with me a small habit or affectation from each of those. I was an anomaly before being an anomaly was cool. I also primarily went to a school in Llano, Texas, where the absolute highlight of a girl's life was that time she won rodeo queen, beat Boots Landers in a beer funneling contest and then topped off the magical evening by fucking the football team.

I was angry. I was hurt and humiliated all the time because of the taunting and jeering and being the butt of everyone's jokes. I would keep my game face on all day long and go home every night and sob in my room. I was crippled by my love for my parents and not wanting to hurt them any more than they hurt by seeing my pain, so suicide, although very appealing, was not an option. I loved them too much. But I hated my life and I despised myself.

I was horribly shy and introverted and very much a pacifist. I was confused by the animosity that was directed at me and I did not know how to respond, so I never did. I bottled everything and to keep from losing my mind, I found my release in music as a lot of teenagers do.

The music that I listened to was indicative of my repressed rage. Ozzy Osbourne, King Diamond, WASP, Megadeth, Pantera, Sepultera, Metallica - that was really all I felt I had. It was the one thing I would not compromise on and I was fiercely protective of the only companions to my grief. I wore my concert shirts with pride, even when I was sent home to change because they were deemed too vulgar or violent. My choice in music was a daily buffet of material for the ones who felt the need to trample on me and bruise my soul.

When Devon sat with me and listened to some of the music that I enjoy, I waited anxiously for his approval. I very much remember that lonely, broken girl and I didn't think I could stand it if my own son ridiculed me.

When he grimly smiled, balled his fist and began thumping his thigh to the rhythm, I knew what he was feeling. I thought, here is a way for you, too, to express the anger you've felt all these years. Here is a way for you to release that without harming anyone else or doing detriment to the morals that you live by. Here is a way to share it without having to come to me because you think I won't understand. I was thrilled that we shared that bond.

I got a new car a couple of weeks ago, and it has a CD player in it. You would think I've won the lottery.

Most mornings, we listen to a radio station that does a bit that Virginia just loves, because her unabashed gut chuckles make Devon and I smile for the entire ride.

This morning, however, as I was reaching for the volume and trying to drive, I accidentally hit the CD button and engaged the music that I usually only listen to when I'm alone and having a bad day. Blackie Lawless began shrieking about his ambition to live his way and be somebody. I couldn't help bellowing along with him for a moment. At some point, I glanced over to see Devon looking at me in horror. I faltered for a moment. I was, for a split second, embarrassed. Then he grinned and shook his head. He said, "I love you, Mom. You're weird, but it's cool."

And just like that, I was healed.

As we made our way through the beginning of the morning, I paid tribute to that lost girl by singing loudly, off key, and with the confidence she had never loved herself enough to have.

Thank you for that, Devon.