I Was A Teenage Meathead

There were a lot of obstacles that I had to overcome growing up. They may seem very trivial to some people who have had to overcome "actual" obstacles in light of my upbringing, but each life has a story so to each his/her own ya know. I am the oldest child in my family. I was the first born son to a married, but single teenage mother. When I was at an age where I could babysit my sisters, I became "the man of the house". I had responsibilities to do good in school and do as I was told. My Dad lived in California so I never really had that male role model, father influence in my life. My Mom's boyfriends were sadistic and they hated me, especially Mario. He hated being associated with the kid he and his friends called faggot. Many arguments with him revolved around how embarrassed it made him to be asked whether or not I was queer. He treated me like I wasn't a human being. we only got into a few physical altercations, but his mental cruelty had no end. I should be happy to say that at least he didn't leave black and blue marks on me like some of the other men who came through my life. I've read stories about parents who have beaten their gay children. Some of them have killed their children and have gone to prison, just because they didn't want their child to be gay. I guess that I lucked out and was able to escape that kind of cruelty. The men in my life had no intention of protecting me. The adults in my life showed me how their love was conditional.

My biological father was/is a musician. I learned about my biological father when I was either 6 or 7. I didn't know what it meant to have a different father than the one my sisters and I called Daddy. My Mother always insisted that I had always known who he was and that he was in and out of my life up until the time that he and I actually met. It was weird meeting him for the first time. He wasn't like the men in my life (up to that point). He picked me up from my house and we drove some place to eat breakfast, I think the restaurant was called Sambo's. I couldn't tell you what we talked about or how our conversation went. I think that he tried to get to know me and wanted to find out if I had any interest in getting to know him. He told me that he played in a rock and roll band and asked me if I would like to hear him play sometime. I thought that the idea would be great and we set off to a studio or a garage of some kind where he and his band-mates practiced.

It was the 80's and the music of the time was a blend of glam, pop, and heavy metal, so his band was kind of in there with that genre. They all had long hair and they all had guitars (except for the drummer) and they performed their music loud and unapologetic. I remember sitting there listening to and watching him perform. I didn't know how I was supposed to behave. I had ear plugs in my ears and I could feel the music pulsing inside of me like giant vibrations of sound. It electrified me and filled my eyes with tears. Mark noticed that my eyes were watering and he asked me if anything was wrong. I think that I was moved by what he was doing and got a little emotional about it. I told him that the earplugs were hurting my ears and that was the end of their session. When he took me home, we sat in his truck outside of my house and he said "hey, I've got something for you" and he pulled a guitar pin from his pocket. It didn't mean much to me at the time. It was a weird little electric guitar pin that I could pin to a jacket. I took it and said thank you. He told me that he would talk to my Mom about setting up another time to hang out with me, then he left and I went back to my regular routine. Mark came in and out of my life as I was growing up. He never really had anything to offer me as an adult or a parent. I had that stupid little pin for many years until it broke or I lost it. Any time that I held onto it I remember a date that he made with me to hang out. I spent all day waiting in a lawn chair on my patio waiting for him to come and get me. when nighttime came and he still hadn't shown up, I went into my room and cried again.

The pin had some kind of significance and so did hid performance. I think that I became aware of music at an early age. The very first song that I could sing all of the lyrics to was "Eye Of The Tiger" from Survivor. I remember walking around barefooted in the hot summer sun singing "rising up, back on the streets/did my time, took my chances". The lyrics were catchy and they played that damn song on the radio so many times. It was the theme song to Rocky 3 and I was a 6 year old who had no idea what it meant to be a fighter (yet). I thought about being cool and being a winner. in May of 1982 I probably would have been finishing first grade. Other than some of the neighborhood kids, I didn't have many friends. I had my sisters and my Mom. My Mom would listen to her radio, play her records and smoke her cigarettes. She would always tell us kids to go outside and play when the adults were in the room. When there was no one around and she was feeling kind of down, she would get out her records and fill the house with the sounds of Donna Summer, Bob Seger, The Beatles, Barbara Mandrell, Heart, Neil Diamond, ZZ Top, Hank William, Led Zepplin and so many others that I can't recall. My mom used to sing out loud and she had/has a decent voice. I thought about how singing made her feel. Although I was too young to comprehend what it was that she was singing about, I knew that music helped part of her soul. It was the same kind of therapy that I would come to know and cherish in my own life.

I was in 5th or 6th grade when I tried out for the  Meas All City Music Choir. My music teacher took notice that I enjoyed singing and I think that she could tell that I could carry a note. I don't remember how I auditioned, but I know that it was through school (from the music teacher and her recommendation) and I got chosen to represent my school. It was weird having to go to rehearsal. Up until that point in my life, I didn't really know what a responsibility it was. I knew that in order to be able to sing the songs that were being performed, I had to be at every rehearsal. I think that I was one of those kids who made sure to hound my Mom enough so that she (or some other adult) made sure that I made every rehearsal. I loved it! I loved being away from the people I knew, doing something that I loved. I mean sure, my Mom's friends used to pick on me and tell my Mom that I had a beautiful voice, then quickly follow it up with "wait until his voice cracks". I never really let that bother me. I was a singer in a choir. I don't even remember the songs that we performed, but I was a singer in a choir. I didn't care that my friends and family didn't like me singing songs from Madonna or Pat Benatar, because I was a singer and that was all I ever wanted to be when I was a kid.

Instead of nurturing my gifts or providing guidance, music was really kind of down-played in my childhood development. Like most elementary school kids, I learned to play the recorder. I was in band in 6th grade and for a time I was first chair French Horn. The story with the French Horn went like this. Chris really, really wanted to play the saxophone, the music teacher said that there were too many sax players and recommended that I play the French Horn, I learned how to play the French Horn. I started getting bored with it and I think that was when I went from first to second chair. I lacked the discipline to practice at home. Some of my friends had the cool instruments. In my heart I wanted to play the saxophone. The dorks played the bigger instruments. I was lumped in with the dorks and I wanted to be cool. And that want to be cool led me down a road to eventually giving up on playing a musical instrument. Later, after performing with the All City Music Choir, I got the impression that only nerds and dorks and faggots performed in band or sang in choir. I didn't want to be have any of those labels attached to me, so when it came time to choose electives for 7th grade I decided to quit music altogether for art and shop.

Appetite For Destruction (Guns N Roses) was released in the summer of 1987. I was a precocious 11 year old boy who knew nothing about any of the themes presented in that album. When Sweet Child O' Mine became the biggest hit on the earth all I could remember was that I wanted to be just like Axl Rose!  I wanted the life of a rock star so bad. I didn't know how to do it, but I wanted it. Although I wasn't performing music, I was rocking out to an empty space, alone in my bedroom 90% of the time. I had Bon Jovi, Poison, INXS, The Cure, Heart, George Michael, Janet Jackson and Madonna. Other than going to school, I had no reason to leave my room. Sometime between 7th and 8th grade my Dad got me a subscription to CIRCUS magazine and overnight my tiny bedroom walls were littered with posters from rock bands all over the globe. I had gone from cutesy unicorn posters to lurid posters featuring metal bands and depicting men with long hair in leather pants. I was addicted to hearing men sing at the top of their lungs about sex, drugs and rock n' roll! I was hidden away in my bedroom, allowed a few hours a night after school to indulge in a fantasy life that only the lucky could ever have.

I say lucky, because luck plays more of a part in becoming a superstar than anything. I know a lot of people say that in order for you to become successful, you need to work hard, discipline yourself and have a passion for what it is that you are doing. I think at one point in my young life I had a passion for music. Eventually my voice did break, but it didn't deter me from singing. I had to learn how to sing in a lower octave and hopefully try to perfect my falsetto. Since I didn't know how to do that on my own, I didn't pursue it anywhere else. I'd lay in my bed, with my headphones on singing to the top of my lungs until I couldn't sing anymore. On occasion I would feel someone watching me and open my eyes to my Mom's boyfriend staring at me in disgust, mouthing "shut the hell up" and ordering me to get some chores done. I'd muddle my way through school and try my best to seem interested in the things that were being taught to me, even if I didn't think that they were ever going to help me in my life. I coasted through junior high, without much supervision or guidance and I think that I did what I wanted as long as I kept up with the appearance that I was doing better than average.

On September 24th, 1991, my 16th birthday, Nirvana released Nevermind. I was in 11th grade and I was dysfunctional. I had acne. I didn't wear cool clothes. I had an attitude problem. I was in a new school. I ditched classes. I smoked cigarettes. And I genuinely didn't give a fuck about anything except for music. Smells Like Teen Spirit was the anthem of my life. I wanted long grungy, oily, pink hair. I wanted to play guitar and I wanted to write nothing but poetry all of the time. Everything about life sucked. I had crushes on boys that I couldn't act upon. I had girl friends in order to camouflage the fact that I didn't have a girlfriend. My small group of friends were made up of the kids that no one really paid much attention to other than to mock as they  walked by us sitting by our lockers in between class. In the era of grunge, I had met my calling and I wanted to get the fuck out. But sometimes poor boys just remain poor boys. Without any passion and drive, I would remain a poor boy with a Walkman, headphones and a worn copy of Nevermind that kept me entertained from 1991
until 1993.

I did eventually break out of my shell in 1992. I joined the choir at my school. I remember auditioning for it at the end of my Junior year in high school. I was so nervous. I couldn't read sheet music anymore and I didn't know how to perform. I told my friends that I was going to audition and they wished me luck, but didn't come through to cheer me on. I stepped into the choir room and met Ms. Banner. She asked me what my range was and I looked at her with such confusion. I remember telling her that I had played in band in elementary school and that I had been in the All City Choir when I was younger. She asked me to sit by her at the piano and she started playing notes. For each note, she required that I echo back with an equivalent "la". She would play a scale and see how well I mimicked it back to her. At the end, she said that I had a good voice, with a pleasing tone and a nice vibrato. I felt so nervous going into the audition that I felt like I was going to piss myself. At the end of the audition, she smiled and said that I would be a welcomed addition to the advanced choir as one of the new tenors. I walked out of that room with such a smile and tears welling up in my eyes. I found my friends and told them that I was going to be in La Camerata the following school year. It was met with lukewarm congrats.

I kept most of my senior classes private from my family. I mean, my Mom knew that I had made the choir, but she worked and didn't really put forth much of an effort to get me to and from rehearsals. Her boyfriend made it quite clear that nothing came before chores, so it didn't matter that I had performances. If I didn't have my chores done, then I couldn't participate in choir concerts and such. I was also still just a poor boy, so when it came time for the school choir trip to see The Phantom Of the Opera, I had to try to raise money by participating in a car wash provided by the choir. I remember making my way to a Wendy's about two miles from my house. I spent most of the day goofing around with my choir friends, soaping down cars, spraying them clean with water from a hose. In the late afternoon I made walked the two miles back home, dangerously red from the afternoon sun and tired from the heat. I suffered a really bad sunburn after that event. trying to raise funds didn't make much of a difference anyway. When it came time for my Mom to put in a little money for the trip, she said that she didn't have it and I couldn't go.

It was things like this that kind of made being in choir a so-so experience for me. As I mentioned, I couldn't read sheet music and I never thought to ask someone to teach me how. I just kind of sang along with the other kids and followed the instructors hand movements while watching her facial expressions. There was an opening for the select choral group that I audition for in the fall of 1992. I don't even remember the name of it, because it was so early in the morning and I rode the bus to school. I could never make it to rehearsals before school, so I told the instructor that I wouldn't be able to join. And I really wanted to join that group. It had the best singers in it, especially Shawn Pennington. I lusted after Shawn and his friend J.H. Ingram. I thought that if I was good enough to be in a choir with the very top performers in my school, then I would be good enough to be around them. I was mistaken of course, because queer boys in high school didn't associate with other queer boys. Unless of course, you were a pretty boy, then there were exceptions. I knew that my time in sun had come to an end when I tried out for the high school play. I auditioned for the part of The Modern Major General in our production of the Pirates of Penzance. I sang my part, and shortly after J.H. came into the room and auditioned for the same part. He got the part in the play and I continued being another cog in the school choir. I know it was just one play and one turn down, but it was my senior year and I wanted everything to be memorable. Even if I had made it into the play, I doubt that I would have been able to make any of the rehearsals.

I went back to my headphones. Spent the afternoons ditching classes and walking home through the desert listening to my Faith No More cassette. I'd sing at the top of my lungs because there wasn't anyone around for miles. I'd try to get through my days, some music here and there to ease my aching heart. I really only remember one choir concert that I got to perform in. It seemed like it might have been the Christmas concert. I think that my Mom and my sisters might have been there, but I can't say for sure. I just know that my family didn't always attend my school performances. It was hard to be happy about things like that when the ones who love you never seemed supportive enough. Even when I graduated, it seemed like the only people who cared enough to be there, were the only ones who could make it a priority. I didn't have any prospects after high school and I suppose I became one of the millions of kids with hopes and dreams that would go unfulfilled.

I don't expect much out of life, because you get out of it what you put into it. I don't think that I have much to offer at this stage in my life. Sure, I have tried to do the singing thing. I have entered into a few karaoke contests. Come in second place many times, but there has always been someone better than me to take the spotlight. I am still just a poor boy trapped in an aging man's body. My rehearsal room is the space in between my car doors when I spend 20 minutes driving to and from work. I think back on the punk rock kid that wanted to be something and wonder if he'd be frightened of what he will become. Would he have tried harder and followed through with more, rather than chasing his erection from man to man. I suppose that there isn't a time limit on chasing your dreams. I have tried to reach out a time or two to my biological father to see if he could give me any guidance. That hasn't panned out any results. I stopped going to karaoke bars, because being out late at night is not as fun as it used to be. And I am slowly getting to the point where I don't share my music with the people that I care about or love, because it doesn't matter what brings me joy, they seem to not care or mock it. I guess the spoils of youth really are wasted on the young. And you can't go back no matter how hard you try.