Not good enough aka I love Paul Weller and Pete Townshend

“I offered up my innocence, got repaid with scorn.”

It took years of accelerating past 7th grade to frame existential questions, most notably why wasn’t I good enough?

I had never been looked down on before, just for breathing. Girls giggling in the hall, glancing your way so you knew what the subject was about. We had a few boys from rich town who made it their business to verbally slash you as opportunities arose.

One in particular was a short guy who hid behind a perpetual snide smile. I pegged him early–like the old man, he only laughed at his jokes and all his ‘humor’ (put downs) were delivered with smiles and laughter. But he was always congealed butter when there were girls around.

C’mon laugh along with me as I poke fun at your stupidity and low-class ways. What’s the matter, don’t you have a sense of humor? Of course, I never have a fast enough comeback, but I kept my needle out when I could. Not hard to imagine what his home life was like. I knew at the end of the day, he was going to be short for the rest of his life and always angling to be big man on campus. Yea, you and I never saw anyone like that at our workplaces, did we? HA

I wasn’t rich, didn’t grow up with parties, wore glasses. I had new clothes, I was liked in sixth grade. What the hell happened? Did everyone see through me and know I was traumatized?

Seventh grade was realizing some people disliked you for no good reason, just like the adult world. Tough lesson. Girls had ‘slam books’, passing little notebooks and writing what they thought of people. And you only were allowed to see and sign one if you were good enough.

I now realize a ration of it came from mom being a teacher. Some kids who were in her class probably hated her, and others decided I had a really easy life having a teacher mother. It’s always easy finding a reason to talk yourself into revenge.

This was further evolution of my split personality–taking my pain, shoving it down, and re-creating myself as a sweet, confident, punkass boy about town. Walk forward, move into things uninvited if need be, because it didn’t matter what anyone thought of me. I was stuck with what I had; gotta make the most of it. I’m an actor, playing a role. No one can see the real me, and besides, who the hell cares?

Why did I take to Townshend so quickly, I wonder?

But some nights were spent in sleepless self-examination. It took a while to come to grips with this ‘awkward age.’ It can be tough getting lost while standing still. Heard this on the radio back then and thought ‘Wow. Somebody somewhere gets it.’

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