Droids and Drones

One of the things that I’m very grateful for in this life is that I have documentation of my existence. It helps, especially when I’m feeling discombobulated, to have something tangible to revisit, reexamine and occasionally, reinterpret.

I remember quite vividly the day in 4th grade when I wore my C-3P0 tee shirt and Star Wars wrist-watch for picture day at Magnolia Elementary. Much to my teacher’s distress, I'll confess. It all starts in childhood, or so they say.

I look at that picture and remember that I was a contrary little shit-pot-stirrer, even back then. The other kids were dressed in ironed and starched button downs or crisp-looking polos, no doubt chosen by some overly zealous Southern Baptist mothers. I deliberately did not tell my mom it was picture day and picked out my own outfit, without any concern if others would deem it inappropriate. Once again, foreshadowing…

For the past few weeks, I’ve been thinking a lot about robots on tee-shirts, boys and Star Wars, flipped up collars on pink polos, living up to other people’s expectations and being comfortable with my own choices.

When I first stumbled across that picture, I felt an immediate pang of nostalgia. Awww...look at me…loving the gay robot…and the Star Wars. But tonight -- I look at that picture of that seemingly fat, happy kid – and I must confess that there’s a lot more to the story than a cheesy backdrop and some misty, movie-making memories...

There’s a quarter of my life when I spent every day in school being called a fat faggot. I remember wanting so desperately to be something other than who I was – and spent years scheming and achieving, hoping like hell that my efforts would get me out of Kentucky and off that farm.

And now that I’ve been away from that life for almost half my life, I’m suddenly struck with this feeling that what I wanted to leave behind me is still with me. It’s this persistent contrariness that inhabits my thoughts constantly. Sometimes it’s affable and goofy and sometimes it’s serious and contemplative. Sometimes I wonder if it’s a characteristic that is truly me, or an affection created by growing up loving Dee on What’s Happening and too closely identifying with the kids on Square Pegs?

I looked at that picture today and l wonder how much money did my mother spend outfitting me in movie-related merchandise? How much money did George Lucas and/or Twentieth Century Fox pay for that shirt in the first place? How much money did the seamstress make sewing it?

And since I’m in a mood to think this shit through some more -- was I ever, really being a revolutionary? Or was I just a pop culture drone by 4th grade?

Sadly...no Google search that will yield the answers I seek tonight. I cannot answer any of those questions readily.

So, I’m gonna return to my childhood again and just go jump on my bike. The stars and the wars will be there tomorrow. But a night like tonight should never be wasted.