>> RANTS > FROM THE PEN OF THE MASTER GEEK

Just Glad the Freaks Didn’t Come

First off, I want to state publicly that I will never complain about a Portland summer ever again. Damn. I had completely forgotten just how hot, dusty, and completely miserable a summer in the Sierra Basin could be. Listen, if sage pollen, dirt, heat, and the scent of tar from never-ending road construction is your mug ‘o Coors, enjoy; but I can’t wait to get back to the verde vistas and real beer of the Pacific Northwest. So, if I can’t stand this area so much, why am I here? Easy, the lovely Jenn was going to her reunion and there was no way I was going to let her brave that place alone! Having no real connection or love for my Alma Mater I didn’t attend my reunion, but knowing that we came from similar schools in a similar environment I kinda’ figured this would count. Kinda’ like drinking at the Ringlers Annex on Burnside. The time came and we entered the reunion.

Two Geeks in a sea of baseball caps and tank-tops.

Only knowing the lovely lady on my arm, I settled in for a long night of small talk and wingman duties. Not that I cared, I was going to have a good time and get in some rural people watching. (Well, the term “rural” is used rather loosely, the area has grown to urban levels...but... You know, lead the horse to water and all.) Testing the bar with my standard Jack and Coke, I quickly moved to beer with Heineken being my only decent choice. (Yes, I am a snob, I accept that.) The cultural difference between Northern Nevada and Oregon were made perfectly and humorously clear when I handed the waitress $20.00 for my beer. Being handed back a wad of $1.00s I heard the person next to me state, “dude, you should totally hit the dollar slots.” While I simultaneously thought to myself, “dude, I should totally hit a strip-club.” A vice is a vice I guess. Feeling the pressure of a couple of beers building I braved the sea of ex football players and wrestlers, each one giving me the stink eye that I knew oh so well from my high school days. (To be fair, they were likely trying to see if they remembered me.)

First words I heard as I opened the door to the men's room.

“Just glad the freaks didn’t come.”

Strange, I only thought girls went to the bathroom in tandem, but who was I to judge. The comment from the guy in the Oakley (Oakley, is this 1992)?! T-shirt got me thinking. Where were all the freaks and geeks that are prevalent at every school? Returning to the room I leaned in close to Jenn and asked her: “Where are all your peoples?” She smiled back, “I think they’re too busy having lives and not sharing pictures of their third kid.” Look, I know I come off as an elitist and snob at times, but much of that comes from being beaten (both verbally and physically) down when I was a wee Geek for being different. For being the “freak who always wore black and played those devil games.” I can remember time after time being told by the very same type of people that filled the room that night that I wouldn’t amount to anything. That I would always be a dork who would never get laid and end up at Wal-Mart my entire life. They were the real future of the community. They were the chosen ones who would lead. They were captains of the football team after all, so they were natural leaders. If your dream was (is) to get married, have a mess of kids, and maintain the community you grew up in great, in fact I think that is necessary. It simply isn’t the life I chose.

Jenn was right though.

The freaks and geek weren’t there because many of them were busy chasing their own dreams. But, I think it is a bit more then that. I honestly think many of them did not want to come back. High school is a rough time for everyone, everything about it is strange and awkward. But when you are a geek, a nerd, a theater freak, or any other “fringe” person then the difficulty is doubly so. No school has a party to celebrate an award winning performance. Entire weeks worth of celebrations are never scheduled for the first show of the year. Local business never pool their resources to buy the band new uniforms and the art department new equipment. There is this great line from Hellboy, “in the end, all us freaks have, are each other.” Never is that statement more true then in high school. The freaks and geeks had to pound the pavement for their own money. I understand that money is tight for schools across the board, but I just don’t remember the baseball team having to put together a business plan and sell advertising to raise money. We outcasts had to work long and hard for each and every event we ever organized. And you know what? I am glad we did. It tempered us for the future, for the real future where people don’t give a crap how many touchdowns you scored or how many crowns you won. The ones that weren’t broken by our small towns were better equipped for the world that is more interested in the bottom line, in the end result. That’s why most of the freaks and geeks weren’t in that small room in the back of a casino. The were too busy conquering their little corner of the world.

But not all.

You’ll notice that I mentioned “the ones that weren’t broken.” The sad fact is that every time I return to my childhood home I see friends who didn’t make it out. Friends who had dreams of their own, but couldn’t get past the pressure from the community and their own family. Most are happy, but whenever I talk to them I hear a hint of sadness in their voice, like they know they missed out on something, they just don’t know what. Then there are the others that really didn’t make it out. I visit them too. They don’t talk anymore. They don’t listen anymore. They don’t dream anymore. When the star running back at my school took his life they brought in therapists, the school closed for his funeral, and kids wore black bandanas for the next month. They even erected a small bench with his name on it that locals still bring flowers to on his birthday. When a friend of mine did the same, they looked at his CD collection and simply nodded. Even years later I shake my head in disbelief when I hear old classmates state that it was just “that crowd” or “what did you expect, they listened to that music and played those “Satanic games”. There was a time when I was silent when I listen to their inane ramblings. Not so much anymore. I take their comments to the mat every chance I get. That so called “devil music” and “Satanic games” was their only escape from a community that didn’t give a crap for their dreams and desires. “The world needs ditch diggers”, they would say, or, “the Army always needs grunts.” Writing about far off worlds and people that never were was my only real escape from a community that was afraid of anything that was different.

Most of my friends made it out and I hope that those who didn’t have found peace with themselves. In the end I am grateful for my past. It made me the person I am today.

Many, many months ago I was walking down the street in the Hollywood district. Being Portland, it was raining. Ahead of me I saw a young guy in a rattled jean jacket and long black hair doing his best to protect the comics he had just bought from the local shop after school. He slipped on an oily puddle and went down hard, his newly purchased comics spilling out onto the street. From behind a couple of dudes in jerseys and backwards caps began to laugh. “That’s what you get freak, maybe if your hair wasn’t so long you could see.” They passed him by still laughing. Part of my wanted to thump on the guys, but seeing how they were not of age (and likely able to smoke me anyway) I let the thought pass. Instead I picked up a few of the books at my feet, did my best to brush off the dirt chunks and extended my hand to the guy. He looked at me with suspicion until he looked past my open jacket. I was wearing my old and tattered Deception shirt. He grinned a bit and let me help him up.

“It gets better man, trust me”.

I never would have been able to say that had I not been a big Geek from a small town.

It does get better.