What Once Was and Shall Never Be Again...

I had a Ronnie James Dio patch on the sleeve of my denim jacket. I was secretly in love with Belinda Carlisle, and would have sold my brother for a for real, authentic Vladislav Tretiak hockey jersey. I was a towering, slippery pile of contradictions, but I was also 15 years old and so that's allowed. My good friend Johnny was cool with it. He was a hundred contradictions all at once too, although somewhat more committed to his metal affiliations than I was. I would shamefully listen to Cars records through headphones in my room at night so no one would know that I was digging so hard on new wave and only faking the metal appreciation. I doodled Led Zeppelin on my binders just because Bic blue Elvis Costello etched into my pencil case would have gotten me laughed right out of the 10th grade. I liked Miller High Life King Cans, when I could get my gangly fingers on them on party nights. Two was all it took. I still had friends from elementary school although I was quickly shedding them. Jake Ryan from Sixteen Candles was my hero, but I probably had way more in common with Farmer Ted. Actually, if there was any connection that made any sense at all, it was that I might have found a greater affinity with Lloyd Dobler than the rest. I never held a Peter Gabriel blaring ghetto blaster above my head in an effort to woo a woman though...not once.

In the ninth grade I wore high tops with the tongues hanging out and by the tenth grade I was fully committed to wearing out my deck shoes to an acceptable level of decrepitness. I may have even popped a collar no less than twelve months after owning a studded belt. I was a walking, talking deep, dark, empty well of poorly defined adolescent and I was awfully good at it.

I'm beyond curious as to who and what and how Zoey will be at 15. She certainly won't be quite so eager to play catch with her Dad, but maybe. I wonder what she'll be listening to, and how awkward she'll feel reading about her Dad crushing on Belinda Carlisle. I hope we have a daughter that we can talk to, that likes us, and that finds what we are and who we were once to be interesting. I hope she forgives me for the Dio patch on my jean jacket, and discovers Zeppelin a lot earlier than I did. I hope she likes the Beatles. I hope she steers clear of Miller High Life King Cans for a least a couple years into her adolescence, but I won't crucify her if she doesn't. There such a thing as the pot calling the kettle black. Under no circumstance though will I be driving out to Port Lambton to pick her and her friends up after a party and find myself giving Ron McNally a ride home. It's a disturbingly real possibility and I don't even want to think about it. He's probably still in the twelfth grade.