After seeing reminisces from siblings and old friends on Facebook about our younger days in SF, I’m struck by how absent I was from that world. There are few photos of me from that period. Despite the Grand Central Station feel of our household I remember my teenage days spent almost entirely alone. I did have friends but I didn’t hang out with the various characters who wandered through our house on Haight St. I didn’t . I didn’t get drunk, get laid or go partying with the family.
Why didn’t they ask me to come along? One day I came out of my cave to find the house empty. A two story Victorian with six bedrooms where there was always someone around; family, friends, lovers, someone buying some dope - empty. When Mom and company returned I demanded to know why I was not invited on the impulsive trip.
“We figured you would say no so we didn’t bother.” came the logical and insensitive reply. Meaning, “We didn’t know you were there.” I was used to be ignored in my father’s house, where I was just a piece of furniture but it hurt terribly that I was still invisible. Maybe I just didn’t fit in, my family was a little weird. Mom said I “disapproved” of whatever was going on. I was a prude, I don’t know why, but it was my loss.
Adolescence is supposed to be wild, adventurous and even a bit embarrassing but it didn’t happen that way because I was an angry little shit. I hate that kid now. While everyone was out enjoying life I sat in my room and brooded- I still do. I locked myself away in misery, floundering in a sea of hormones with no self esteem in sight. I could have enjoyed being outrageous like everyone else- the Halloween parties alone were legendary- but I missed out on it all. Deep down I longed to be included but I was too sensitive to remove my surly mask.
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