I have been an artist my whole life ( writer and a musician). This is not something I chose to be- it is who I am. Music and words called to me, as they are the master and I am the servant. I am not a slave, but a willing participant, and I do not regret a single day- single moment- a single creative impulse.
To my family- both immediate and extended have always seen me as a freak- as someone that has a screw loose- or that I have something psychologically wrong with me. They call me "weird" even now after 44 years. I gladly wear this badge - but it took many years for me to recover from the kind of judgment I have received from those closest to me.
I don't like the same things others do. I don't dress the right way. I don't even keep my beard appropriately trimmed. I am an outcast from my blood, but what they don't realize is that on these fringes, I have been the happiest and most creative.
Do I watch sports? No. Do I say appropriate things all the time? No. Do I conform? Definitely not. Am I always neat and tidy? No. Do I eat the right things? I try.
Do I wear designer clothes? Not unless they are on some back rack or I find them at my favorite store- Goodwill. And then, I choose it because I like the way it looks, not because of the label.
I wear wrinkly coats, and undersized hats. I like plaids, and my hair is always a work in progress.
I am an artist. Deal with it.
Can I play a mean flute? Hell yes.
Can I write? You bet!
Can I add really inappropriate lyrics to songs? Much to the chagrin of my wife- definitely.
Am I happy? I am joyous.
When I was seven, I walked into the local music store, and my parents and sales person asked me what instrument I wanted to play. I said the flute.
WHAT? FLUTE?
What was wrong with me. For many years I created a story that was half true to explain my choice. I said, " I wanted to play the flute because that was where the pretty girls were."
It is half true because, I did say that- but it was not totally true.
I got to hear lovely words like- Fag, pansy, and gay attributed to any guy who played the flute- even then at the store at the age of seven. I mean boys played trumpets, and drums- not the flute.
For the record- I am a heterosexual male. No question there. But I had to defend it. It would have been easier to give up my pursuit- but I loved playing the flute. In fact, I still do.
It was not just the kids at school, but it was my own flesh and blood that referred to me, in not a subtle way, as gay. There is nothing wrong with being a gay male, it was just that I am not gay.
Add to that, that I hated, I mean hated sports, and it was like putting nails in my coffin. Instead of baseball practice, I wanted more flute lessons, and I wanted to be in the theater. My father, a mean boy from the streets of Hell's Kitchen was fit to be tied.
In my early teens- I was depressed and stressed. I wanted to please my family, but I wanted to perform on stage too. This resulted in medications and therapy.
Three things saved my life- and I mean that in the literal sense.
One, was that I was very active in music and the theater. I was a kid, but I was treated as an equal on stage. I pushed myself to be the best- not because my family wanted it, but because the better I got, the better response I got from my music and theater family.
The second thing was a therapist that said, "Stop trying to please them, and be true to yourself. You will never match up to their expectations, and in a few years you will be on your own. You have to be yourself."
Man, those words gave me permission to let go, and just stop trying to be something I was not. That did not mean my family accepted me anymore, it just meant I cared less about their jabs and their demands to be the macho man in the Armani suit.
The third, part, and I have to thank my mother (probably the only person that understood me), was she allowed me to got to an arts school in North Carolina at the age of 14. I was dying in regular high school. I was beginning to skip more than I was going- I was not like the others- I was too artsy and too adult.
I thrived with others like me- 24/7 artists. I could have lived there forever.
I have had ups and downs and career decisions that were based on what others said I should do, but now I am at a point in my life, I am doing exactly what I wanted. 24/7 artist.
My wife gets me. My daughter gets me. And my wife's family gets me.
My family does not get me.
The reason I am writing this is because my middle daughter has electric blue hair, gauges in her ears, a ring in her nose and VISUAL ART in her soul. She dresses, acts, and breathes like an artist. She is the same as me, and now she is experiencing what I did- rejection, scorn, and judgment. People judge her by what she says, what she posts, and what she wears. I am the devil's servant for allowing her to express who she is, only to have adults at her school and my family degrade and insult her.
To them- I say two words- "Bugger Off!"
Someone said to me today- what they felt was an insult- but to me was the GREATEST compliment ever- "John, she is weird just like you."
Yes she is. She is an artist, and I will defend her to the end of my life to be who she is. (Yes- she has been called a lesbian as well. To my knowledge she isn't, but who cares if she is. Love is love).
My daughter was upset by what they said about her and I told her; "You say you don't understand them. The real truth is that they do not in any way understand you. If they did, they would see the beautiful girl I see every day,"
We are proud to be artists. So we dress quirky. So our hair has its own agenda- combed today, tomorrow pink or tousled, or maybe bald. We are not trying to be different- We are different. Why can't others understand and love us for our weirdness? Why does creative expression incite such hate?
I don't know- but at this point in my life? I don't care. Love me? Hate me? I love myself and chuckle every time I see myself in the mirror. Can you do the same?
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