make way for a true free spirit
Marie Loerzel. That drumbeat you hear is all her own.
Don’t worry. Despite the title this isn’t a political post of any kind. I’d call it an introduction to a friend I wish I had spent more time getting to know 30 years ago.
Back then I suffered the same identity crisis most of the other kids did—who is my crowd? And, more to the point, who am I?
I had many such crises in my favorite decade. I had my first taste of alcohol in the summer of 1981, right around the time I met my first “girlfriend” and had my first kiss.
I was a middle school metal head who certainly wasn’t above bending a law or two. I was no stranger to detention and I may have enjoyed the occasional joint, but I also loved sports and I made good grades.
The grades confounded me, because for a time they put me in classes where I didn’t get to see the friends I thought were “my people.” I remember actually tanking tests so I could move to “regular” classes and hang out with my crew. Yes, Mr. Vandewater. I did know the answers in eighth grade science–most of them, anyway. I was just kind of a dick at that age.
By ninth grade (still junior high for us) I still loved my heavy metal but I was also exploring my preppy side. If you want to know how that turned out you’ll have to visit my father’s house. There’s still a picture hanging there of me in a pink polo shirt with what the kids now call a popped collar. Every time I see it I pause for a moment to wonder if it a naked picture of me would actually be less embarrassing. Trust me—I could not pull off that look.
When high school rolled around, I found myself in a fun place. Trying out all those groups exposed me to some wonderful people. I still wasn’t sure where I belonged, but I felt like I got along with people from just about every subculture in the high school ecosystem.
It was the same thing with girls. I dated bad-asses, cheerleaders, punk rockers, goth chicks, smart girls and athletes. I liked girls of all shapes, sizes, hair length and hair color. I didn’t really have a “type.”
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t think I was a nonconformist back then. Hell, my idea of taking a stand was having Canadian pennies in my penny loafers. Still no socks, of course. I guess I thought I was being ironic before I knew what the word meant.
I don’t think I knew it then, but my experience gave me more than just an appreciation for lots of different musical genres. It planted a seed for the way I try to live my life today, and for the only house rule we have. Good humans come in every kind of wrapper, so no matter what else you are, be a good human first.
So now that I’ve finished my rambling intro, let me introduce you to the reason for it. I went to high school with Marie (Nikodem) Loerzel but, sadly, our paths didn’t cross very often. Marie seems to have understood then what it took me much longer to absorb. As she so eloquently writes, “being respected is more important than being accepted.”
Fast forward about three decades. My wife recently shared one of Marie’s blogs with me. It’s called Indie Chick, and I won’t spoil it for you except to say two things. First—give yourself some time. You’ll finish this one and want to read everything she’s written. She’s a terrific writer. And second—aw, fuck. One thing’s enough. I’ve already said too much. I’m going to Amazon to buy her book.
Cheers!
