The chameleon days
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| The indie crowd at EMHS |
It's easy to look at them, roll your eyes and think, "That's ridiculous." I even catch myself thinking it, in some cases. And then I remember what it was like to be young and trying to figure out where I fit in. I remember my sophomore year in high school, and I while I was friends with various groups of people, it was the punk/ alternative culture that really fascinated me. I watched and sometimes copied the fashions of Jennifer Bates, Yvonne Thomas, Angie Kramer, and Ian and Jeremi Karnell, among others. Gothic black, spiky hair, cardigans, and huge earrings. Mohawk optional. I am not sure whom I was kidding - I was/ is a fan of cheesy hair bands and rock and roll (and I experimented with the rock chick persona in college), but I found room in my heart for The Cure, The Cult, Erasure, New Order, Depeche Mode, and Ministry. When I hear some of those songs today, I think of that time in my life.
The alternative-music group wasn't afraid to speak their mind, dance like no one was watching, and dress in full costume. I observed their solidarity, their music knowledge, their affinity for clove cigarettes, and hung around the fringe, not quite committed to the culture, but liking it all the same. Like chameleons, teenagers have a way of blending into a group and then switching to another. I wasn't sure if I wanted to be a punk, or a rocker, or a journalist (I was the yearbook editor). I tried a few, except for the jock culture - I was a serious asthmatic and a hopeless klutz until I got to college, changed my direction again, and joined the rowing team.
That year when I was 16, I had one date with a super-jock and all-around school hero, and he was so sweet. Not to mention that his mother was one of the nicest people I had ever met. But my real crush was on David Foster... dark, spiky hair (later fashioned into a gravity-defying mohawk), clear, intelligent blue eyes, and a soccer player's lean physique. I tried to catch his attention with temporary hair dye and black clothes dancing at Greg Allen's teen dance club in Mishawaka, to no avail. He acknowledged my presence, but that was it.
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| David Foster, circa 1987 |
Mid-year, I ended up in the hospital for a serious bout of the flu and lost 15 pounds (which is why I never fail to get my flu shot). When I was on the the road to recovery and rehydrating, the nurse came to the door to tell me I had a visitor. Who? I said. Someone named David, she said, and winked. David walked in the room and I froze. I'm sure I turned beet red, as is my curse when flustered. He sat next to my hospital bed and talked to me for a while. I can't remember one word of what he said. I wish I knew what - or whom - drove him to visit me at the hospital that day. I know it meant a lot to a young teenager, and I didn't take it for more than it was. It didn't intensify my crush or make me believe that I had a chance with him; it was just... a moment.
When I see young people (ha - I'm almost 41 and I'm talking like a grandmother) with multiple random piercings, tattoos, and peacock-colored hair, I wonder who they're trying to impress, or where they're trying to fit in. And where they'll end up. It's possible they'll find themselves working in the corporate world, and shopping at Ann Taylor and Gymboree on the weekends, like I do. It's also possible that he or she will stay very happily in the alternative stream, as a musician, or artist, or other creative profession where being a little unusual is preferred. In the meantime, I applaud their path toward the adults they will become.
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| Yvonne, 1988 |