It's Not Like You're Trying A Dish With Onions

I have not, nor have ever been, considered a “Wild Child.” There’s a pretty good reason for it. And that reason, ladies and gents, is FEAR. As the oldest of five children, my parents (especially my mother) exerted quite a few rules on me. Did I mention that my parents emigrated here from the Philippines? Our household was a mix of old and new world sensibilities. But for a long time, I felt like it was 90% old world, 10% new world.

Never was this more apparent than when I started my adolescence. According to pop culture, news agencies, and various accounts from friends and loved ones, the teen years are the start of rampant exploration. They meant sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll (or as in the case of the 90s, hip hop). I did not get the memo on that one. In my teen years I explored libraries, the fine art of Filipino cooking, domestic activities, and found a love for classical piano music. I explored these fields because my family expected me to.

And since I didn’t know any better, I never questioned why I couldn’t go out to the dance after the football game. Or why even I wasn’t allowed to go to the football game. It never crossed my mind that that cute guy in chemistry was actually flirting with me because it was hammered into my head that I didn’t have time for a boyfriend. Nor did I ever have the inclination to sneak out and defy these orders – the mere fear of WHAT my parents could THINK of as punishment was more than enough.

Contrary to what you might think at this point, I don’t hate my parents for laying down these rules. Parenting doesn’t exactly come with a hand book. And let’s face it, teenagers today are freaky. However, as I transitioned from high school to my two year stint in college, I felt like I missed out on something.

So when I did start college and started traveling with the Speech and Debate Team (OMG I am such a nerd!), I decided that I wanted to spread my wings and partake in some good old fashioned rebellion. Getting a scholarship to a local junior college to compete on their Forensics (“Speech, not dead bodies.”) squad opened the door to social liberation. The fact that I was traveling about every other weekend to different college to compete, and often for three or four days at a time, it was the first time I was without parental direction. This was it. This was my chance to become a true bad ass.

But standing at the entrance to reckless abandon, I balked.

My college experience was going pretty well. I had made many friends from many walks of life. I was living up to performance expectations in school and competition. I had moved to a relative’s house to cut down on my hour drive to school. I was stretching my wings and feeling fine.

A college Speech and Debate tournament is just a version of college life debauchery condensed into a three day schedule. During competition, we were very serious. However outside of the rounds, there was a lot of fraternizing between schools. By fraternizing I mean “sex” and by a lot I mean “a shitload.” Both the four-year schools and the two-year schools competed against each other. Because of this, there was a great mix of diversity in age, culture, and intelligence.

I met a lot of people my first year of school during competition. One of them was a guy we’ll call Steve. Steve was a re-entry student at another community college in the same city as mine. He was much older than I was. Thinking about it, I’d say Steve was in his late thirties, early forties (I might be feeling generous). Both of our teams got along well as most people hung out with people from their region. Steve and I competed in most of the same events, so we talked frequently.

We started talking a little more and I noticed he’d take care to single me out from the rest of the girls and give me attention. This was, at the time a new experience for me. I’d never dated in high school, nor did I notice (if ever) guys paid attention to me. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it. But think about it – the frumpy girl has an admirer! Of course I was flattered, but tried very hard not to show it.
One night, we all got together again outside of school for a performance on my college campus. Many family and friends attended. Afterwards, the teams decided we were going out to eat. Since I had driven myself, my parents gave their okay and told me to be careful. So we went to the Boar’s Head. Steve sat with me all night, arm around my shoulder or holding my hand. In my head, the twinges of “this is wrong” started to ring out, but my heart was going a mile a minute with a “just relax and have fun” chant.

People began to peel off the group and head to their own beds. Pretty soon it was just Steve and me. He suggested that we go for a walk. It was a pretty mild night, so I grabbed my jacket and purse and we took off. We chatted about a number of topics. Despite the tactile affection I allowed him to do earlier, I kind of kept my distance as we walked. Oh, but he tried to close that gap. At one point, I let my guard down. The bravura in me was strutting. “I’m a big girl. I can handle this.”

It was then we found ourselves alone in a quite corner of a residential neighborhood. We sat down on a bench and he put his arm around me again. He murmured in my ear that he though I was a neat young woman. I smiled, not really sure how to respond to that. Steve went on to say all the right things while I stammered to answer:

“You know I find your intelligence interesting.”

“Well…that’s cool.”

“Are you cold? Would you like my jacket?”

“No thanks, I’m fine.”

“You’re very pretty.”

“Um, thanks?”

It was at that moment Steve decided to take the next step. I had swung my face around to face him. He lifted my chin to look into his eyes and I saw his mouth moving closer to mine. With his kiss looming, my brain and my conscience made a split second decision that I didn’t comprehend until I got home. Bringing up my hand to his chest right before the point of contact, I gently pushed back and stood up.

I looked at the face of a confused suitor and said, “Steve, thank you. But no.” And I walked back to my car.

If I had let Steve kiss me that night, I probably would have taken a lot of “firsts” off my list. Who knows? All I knew at that moment was that I didn’t want my first kiss to be with a man almost twice my age. This is the pattern that my life started to take. I’d be presented with the choice of being “wild” or “mild.” More often than not, I’d choose the safer path. But despite my choice, I’d hate myself for being such a pansy.

Let’s face facts: I’ve never drunk to the point of drunkenness. I’ve never been offered or taken drugs. I never snuck out even on a school trips though I had nothing holding me back. The only reason why I stay late out on a weekend is because I’m with my Speech and Debate activities.

In my eyes…I thought I was boring as the sky is blue.

Luckily I grew into my own self. Years have gone by since that near first kiss and I have come to understand that I am who I am. I’m the “Mild Child” and that’s okay. I may not have all the cool stories about waking up in someone else’s clothes after a night of partying, but I can probably recount the whole story for the friend it did happen to. I haven’t smoked a joint – but I’m not closed off to the idea. I’d venture to say that I have loosened as the years pass.

I was having a conversation with one of my friends one night and we were talking about the fact that I felt so behind everyone in terms of rowdy fun experiences. I whined a bit about being trapped into the expectation of others and maybe that’s why I am so straight laced about certain things. My friend then said something that totally blew my mind.

“It’s okay. Some people aren’t cut out for those things. It’s not like you’re trying a dish with onions.”

I mulled that over for a bit and he continued, “On the other hand, some of us don’t give a fuck.”

He was right. But only half right. It shouldn’t just be SOME of us. ALL of us shouldn’t burden ourselves with the idea that we’re missing out on life because we’re not rowdy. Really, humans weren’t built or programmed that way. You have free will. Use it the way your soul and heart tell you to. If you’re a party animal…party your heart out. If you’re a homebody, that’s cool too.

I guess what I’ve learned is that no matter how exciting or tepid your path is, don’t just EXIST. Whatever the hell you want to do, just do it with gusto.

Pass the onions too, will you? They’re really not that bad after the first bite.