Monday Prompts 17: the moment we denounce our childhood selves.
June's theme: Identity
‘Peter Pan is dressed for graduation’ by Brennig Davies
and his thesis was on the absence of fairies;
his black robe hangs from a hook like a shadow;
outside the window, a Wendy-bird falls.
All the boys have been, if not found, then
located, and if there is a clock ticking —
a constant crocodile, beneath the water’s surface -
he cannot hear it. All children, except one, grow up,
but he’s a tall man, too proud to think of lands
that never were, and too busy for a Darling,
although he still glances, sometimes, to the right of the sky,
for a second star (some story of morning).
Okay first of all, sorry for going SO hard with THIS kind of poem that just kicks you right in the teeth here on this blessed Monday. I didn’t neeeeed to do that. But I did. Ouchie.
I remember the first time I experienced self-consciousness of caring how I was perceived by other kids really sunk in for me: I was at my grandma’s time-share condo on Hood Canal in Washington state, I was probably 12, and my aunt Mimi and I had driven down for the fourth of July. Mimi had taken me to Target where I had picked out some *very cute new summer clothes* AND a palette of gooey sparkle eye makeup (I definitely wouldn’t call it eye shadow… especially if my mom was asking) and I bought *clear* mascara, which felt like I was impressively cheating the system. We always saw the same families when we went up to the time-share, and there was a girl named Brittany who was maybe two years older than me who we would play Marco Polo with, play Barbies on rainy days, muck-about on the beach with. But during this particular summer, she had blossomed into a full-blown teenager, with long legs and straightened, highlighted hair, a cool jean jacket, and a real bra.
Brittany tried to ditch me after fireworks on the beach by going to the pool for a late night swim with her friend who had come up to the condo with her. Her mom and my aunt and grandma did that thing that adults do when they feel sorry for a little tag-along kid and were wayyyy too enthusiastic with their, “BRITTANY, JESS SHOULD COME WITH YOU! JESS YOU SHOULD TOTALLY GO TO THE POOL WITH THE GIRLS! IT’LL BE SO FUN! GO JESS GO” You will be zero percent shocked to hear that the two older girls wanted nothing to do with me. They were wearing string bikinis (so grown up), yelling swear words to rate the fire works (being impressed by nothing = very grown up, swearing = VERY grown up. And scary.), and there I was in my children’s tankini from Limited Too. We got in the hot tub and the girls were fixing each other’s mascara while saying “Oh my GAWD Brittany your mascara is a fucking mess!” (cue tummy ache at the swear word.) I felt so little, like they were on this other planet from me, and I desperately wanted to be let in to their universe. I asked them, “Is my mascara okay?” MY CLEAR MASCARA, YOU GUYS. Of course it wasn’t smudging.
Their response, graciously, is wiped from my memory, whether they went along with it or called me out. But that was the day I told myself I needed to denounce every child-like thing about me and figure out how to grow (the fuck) up. I didn’t think I could bring any of my childlike interests or childlike wonder, and softness, and lack of awareness of how others perceived me, into my teenagehood. I wonder how much of myself has survived.
You know how Ellen Degeneres would bring kid wonders on her show to show them off and melt our hearts and give them a giant cheque for their education etc etc? One time she brought on this little six year old genius who knew everything about dinosaurs. He was adorably awkward - giant blue coke bottle glasses, a polo shirt with dinosaurs on it (of course), and (maybe I’m imagining this) bright blue crocs. He had little plastic dinosaurs for his demonstration, and expertly held them up as he shared when they lived, their favorite snacks, and little factoids like, “and THIS whateveryoucallit (he knew all their names, not me) lived in what is now modern day Turkey 11 million years ago!” I remember watching him and willing for the world to spare him from anyone squashing his brilliance. Protect his spirit, let him continue on in his wonderful, geeky way, let him always know he can love whatever he wants and be this enthusiastic forever, I thought-prayed.
At thirty-three, I think I am someone that my 12 year-old self would think is pretty cool. I’d get to show her how all those swirly feelings have turned into this work that allows me to talk with strangers and used-to-be-strangers about our insecurities and aches and questions and bafflement. I’d get to show her that I figured out how to style my hair and the merits and joys of linen duvet covers. I’d get to show her that the things that made me feel like a difficult, broody, too-much-everything kid are what make me great at this job. I’d get to show her that I still don’t really understand how to do my makeup, mascara smudged on my eyelids most days, and despite that, I’m doing alright.
This week’s prompts:
What was your first moment of denouncing your childhood self? What would you say to your younger self in that moment?
What stories and characters were important to you as a kid?
Write a piece based on a fable/ fairytale/ kid book/ kid movie that you love and flip the narrative on its head.
Write a letter to your younger self.
Ways to connect here at Gentle Company
Poetry Club - Tuesday, June 13th at 7pm EST
Poetry Club is the internet’s chillest-yet-tender club in all the land. Bring a poem you’ve written or a poem you love based on the month’s theme. This month: Poems On Identity.
No need to register for paid Substack subscribers; a Zoom link will automatically be sent to you - if you’re a free subscriber, you can register for Poetry Club here!
In Good Company - Sunday, June 25th at 10:30am - 12pm EST
Our next gathering of In Good Company (a monthly writing workshop) is going to be Sunday, May 25th. We’ll be writing about the way introduce ourselves.
No need to register - a Zoom link will be sent out to paid Substack subscribers 24 hrs before.
The Collective Conversation - Tuesday, June 27th at 7pm EST
This month for The Collective Conversation, we’re discussing identity, perception, and the way we show up in the world - what parts of ourselves we choose to share, and when/ where/ with whom we feel most ourselves.
Register here for this event!
xo jess.