The Beauty & Freedom Of Being Weird

A few days ago, I was invited to a friend's birthday party. Her son is friends with my niece Boo, the Golden One, or at least as much as three year olds have friends. Both Kinder were at the party and much fun was had. Until both, under the influence of refined sugar (teh evols etc), had miniature meltdowns.

At one point, Boo tried to tell her friend, who we shall call Dee - who is sweet and lovely and gives some of the best hugs ever - what to do...




His mom then made it very clear to Boo that she was not to tell him what to do in his own house. It was a beautiful reprimand, clearly and kindly delivered and with the power that only Someone Else's Grown Up can manage. It wasn't mean or overblown, and Boo responded by backing the frak down.

I remember being that kid - how your own mama could tell you off and terrify everyone else (my mum is... awe-inspiring?) and you could just laugh. And then someone else's grown up would come in. Oh holy crackers, I would shrivel even smaller than I was/am.

Talking to E on Facebook messenger that evening as I travelled home, thanking her and her wife for a truly lovely evening, she mentioned that it takes a village and she's the village witch.

Which I think is awesome. I love witches. Witches are generally lovely unless you disrespect them.

And I replied, my role then, i hope, is of the court jester: ain't nuffink wrong with being weird.

Not for the first time, my mind then turned to the role I will play for Boo as she grows older. I don't just want to be Fun!Auntie, with all the fresh energy of a non-primary caregiver, or to become some parody of Auntie Mame. I mean to be someone who can help Boo navigate the world and to present alternatives to the norm, alternatives to what society is already telling she should want to be/have.

As I said to E: I know I needed someone like that. I had to wait until I found John Lennon and Jim Morrison and that's not really the same.

Those thoughts stuck in my head, as they do, and festered, as they do. I tried to think of any Positive Weird Role Models I had, and I cannot think of any.

The mid-late 90s were not exactly full of weird. As much as there were 'controversial' role models, most were still working in the parameters of normal. The Gallagher brothers were living examples of long-established tropes.

I certainly didn't have anyone in Real Life. The town in which I grew up was normal suburbia writ large. The 90s were a time of beige and playing it safe. I had lovely people around me, but I don't recall any who were weird and unapologetic and inspiring.

I was not normal. I mean, on the actual Spectrum of Weird, I'm not especially skewed one way or another, but when you're in a room full of normal 90s kids, your Sgt Pepper CD will stand out.

I liked too many things that weren't normal for one reason or another. Old music. Old movies. History. Books and reading. I liked things that weren't for girls. I read feminist fairytales. I wrote feminist fairytales (didn't necessarily realise it at the time, but they were. I had a keen sense of my own superiority (and inferiority but that's another story). I watched Smart Quiz Shows like University Challenge and Mastermind. My life was a cerebral one.

Still is, actually. I go into pubs only occasionally. I spend more time watching BBC Four than BBC1. I don't watch ITV except for Murder, She Wrote on ITV3. I go to nightclubs even more seldom than 'Hate Camel' Bill Hicks claimed to.

This came into stark focus recently when on an evening of Fun! with Work People, my teetotal vegan arse stood near the pool table as everyone else played, apparently effortlessly, while eating pizza and drinking beer.

I don't want Boo to ever feel like she's awkward for being herself, whether she's weird or not-weird. I don't want her to ever have that hovering-not-quite-belonging feeling because it's horrible.

To any deities existing/listening: I don't want her to ever, ever feel like I used to. Like I was broken, wrong and the only one. Feeling and believing that nobody liked me, nobody wanted me around, nobody cared, nobody even noticed.

Eventually, and not soon enough, I found the Beatles, and I was immediately pulled to John. I watched him snark at Norm in A Hard Day's Night over and over and over and over again, soaking up his sarcasm in hopes I might be able to give voice to the snark I already had, the snark that had been 'part of the problem' and which was so solidly silenced. I read the hefty Lennon by Ray Coleman several times, finding truth and resonance in so much of John's work.

John Lennon didn't make me a socialist, nor did he make me a pacifist. He helped me stand up and say I was those things.

And when someone took the piss because I brought Sgt Pepper to school, I finally snarked back. in the Beatles, in John especially, I had someone who was weird and yet succeeded, who was weird and valued for it. Oh, the beautiful novelty!

As I've said before though, John and his work helped me fake not giving a damn. It would take someone else's example to help me believe it myself.

Enter Morrison, stage left. Unquestionably weird. God, there's stories about his adolescent self that turn one's stomach... there's stories about his adult self that make one want to punch him.

But the Doors were a band for weird kids, odd kids, outsiders and the kids that didn't belong. I would probably not be a fan if I had been one of the popular kids. Indeed, there's an argument that adulation and acceptance by the popular kids is what made him grow a beard.

Imagine, being the weird kid at school and a few years later you're being treated like Adonis... not for your work, but your face and your body... and the way you poke the establishment with a stick. It'd probably screw me up, too.

Sure, having Lennon and Morrison in my life helped... but adoring two rock stars from the furthest 'afar' there is... it's not the same as having a real life person to love you, just as you are.

Incidentally, I discovered Mr Rogers a few years ago. I can't watch the end of his show without wanting to cry, because I really needed someone to say I like you, just the way you are.

Someone who was brave and strong and fierce and gave no fucks, so that I could believe in the same.

It's taken me a long time to feel comfortable in my own skin and bones and soul, and if it means that I can be the court jester in the village my friends and I have constructed in honour of our escaping* (paraphrased from The Doors)... 

If it means that I can smooth the way even a tiny little bit for the children I love - Boo especially but by no means exclusively - then yeah... that's a role I'll gladly and gleefully accept. If I can turn my pain into their entertainment and their strength... sign me the frak up.

Because John Lennon and Jim Morrison aren't just problematic role models, they're as distant as anyone can be. Their work was a way for me to access my own strength and purpose and 'give no fucks', but it was a one way street. They could not be a comfort. I could deduce that weird was OK, but they could not tell me that I was OK, that I was not alone.

I even wrote a song about it: i tried walking in dead men's shoes; I picked up nothing but the dead men's blues...

Because for the longest time, I really kinda was out on a limb all by myself. Whether by accident, design, choice... I wouldn't wish the way I used to feel on anyone, not even my worst enemy. I still live with the echoes, as Fun! With Co-Workers reminded me.

So... I'll do whatever I can to make sure that Boo grows up knowing that weird is ok, that normal is OK. That pink is awesome and blue is fabulous and football's great and reading's tremendous. I want her to feel comfortable in her own skin and bones and soul... so that she can go out in the world and apologise to no one as she stands tall. Or as Johnandyoko might put it: