Arming Herself in Affinity

It is an unexpected irony, but here I am driving my younger one of to the same high school I attended.  She is entering the school at exactly the same age I did, at the beginning of tenth grade.  And her family has made a move, so she “has” to go here.   It’s not where she wants to go.  And she knows very little about the place or the traditions that distinguish this school, which is more or less what happened to me. 

Driving over the bridge this morning she wanted to get the Bluetooth in the car to connect with her phone so she could hear her tunes, loud.  On another day I might have asserted some authorship over what was played, suggested and even swap, but I was happy to let her have complete control of the music today, for this ride.  I was clear that she was arming herself.  Arming herself in affinity with these powerful friends that alloyed her with a select identity in precisely the same way I had done, some thirty-seven years ago. 

I went to this school and I was a punk.  There was nothing more important.  People who knew about the bands I loved, were cognizant, worthy of engagement.  Most everyone else was not.  Nearly everyone at this new school a deeper vein of hippie than I’d ever encountered and it felt like enemy lines, as I recall.  There was another punk. He was even British. But he was a senior.  And he was laconic, and sullen and unapproachable, as I recall, much the way punks were supposed to be.  And he certainly didn’t have any time for me. 

I don’t recall my first ride over to my new school.  It was likely a short ride.  And I wouldn’t have had any way of listening to my tunes on the ride over, let alone continuing to listen to them as I left the car and walked towards whatever building I was due to arrive at.  But I’d have played them loud at home, before I left.  And I’d have been dreaming little dreams about how wonderful it would be if I could suddenly force everyone to listen to my music.  

Friday, 09/06/19