Freaks
February 22nd, 2009 by Lisbeth Prifogle
Now, I am only 27 years old. Just 27 years on this lovely earth, but I think I have experienced far more than most 27 year olds which gives me the right to blog this post. Freaks. I do not mean like the bearded woman and the world´s strongest man from the vintage circus ads. I also do not mean the men and women covered in 90% tattoos or piercings they can hang 10 lb weights from. Some of these people are actually more down to earth and what I would define as normal than the men and women on Wall Street with their 3 piece suits. So what do I mean by Freaks? I mean those people who say and do absurd things and think that it is perfectly normal and acceptable behavior. In some ways we can blame their parents and kindergarten teachers for not teaching them basic acceptable social behaviors. In some ways we can blame the government for giving them freedom of speech. Perhaps our civil liberties should only be given to those who can pass a basic test (much like I think the right to bear children should only be allowed to those who can pass a test). If you are going to raise the Freak Flag that is fine, but please do not run through the streets naked using it as a cape for the rest of the world to have to witness.
I played volleyball growing up and still enjoy a game at the beach or at the Lemon Grove youth gym on Thursday nights (if I´m actually in San Diego). Any possible career playing volleyball for college or anything other than fun was destroyed my senior year of high school after our first home game. Cara helped me dye my hair purple the night before the game. No particular reason other than purple is my favorite color and that’s what we did back then. I was benched the entire game and watched as the new Super Attendant of the school system´s daughter played my position as a freshman. Maybe she had potential, but she did not have the skills or the experience I did, so I can safely assume she was played because my coach was also a teacher. We lost. I remember us losing more than winning even though I´m pretty sure we won a lot more games than we lost. The punishments for losing were brutal. After getting our asses chewed out after the game I was called up to the front of the locker room.
“Either the color comes out of the hair or you are off the team, but I will not have FREAKS on my team!” my coach screamed in front of everyone. Without saying a word to anyone I packed up my things and walked out too proud to shed tears in that locker room. Cara was at the game with Vince and by the time we got to her car I was sobbing. Vince just stared because he had never seen me cry and didn´t know it was possible. We went to the safety of Subway where some of our friends were working.
The next day, with all the pride I have ever had for myself, I walked up to my coach and the assistant coach and handed my uniform in a plastic shopping bag. “The hair color is permanent,” is all I said and went on being considered a freak and now a quitter. I got in a lot of trouble by my mom who was worried about college applications and scholarships and my dad who had spent most of my adolescent years driving me to practices and tournaments year round. Dad let it go when he saw how much pain I was in. It wasn´t being called a freak that bothered me. Cara and I had our group of friends from band, church and drama club and we all knew we were different. We had no desire to be the popular kids at school. We got along with everyone and because we accepted ourselves our classmates accepted our crazy, angsty teenage behavior of colored hair, polyester clothes from goodwill, etc. I guess this level of self-acceptance is something most people never experience in life. My coach couldn´t accept the fact that his life was mediocre at best and he couldn´t even coach a team that won state championships. He was so miserable with himself that he had to intimidate a 17 year old into quitting. Wow, there´s an inspirational story. Let´s make him into an after school special!
So in high school I was called a freak by a grown man. Nevermind the fact that all the other girls on the varsity team were caught drinking at a party the week before and I didn´t complain when a regular 2 hour practice turned into 2 hours of suicide drills that I had to run because I was part of the team. Nevermind the fact that most of the girls had visible tattoos and piercings. Yet I was the freak with my purple hair. I was the scapegoat for all his frustrations with the rest of the team. At 17 was able to face this man and walk away. I hate to admit that the older I get the less energy I have to stand up to ass holes like this. It´s easier to just walk away. During my time with the Marine Corps I often wish I had the confidence and energy that girl had when she quit, but even at the times I did try to stand up for myself or what I thought was right I was often over powered by rank and eventually stopped caring. I decided to finish my obligation honorably and move on.
Freak. It was meant to hurt me. A weapon of words, but it empowered me. If I am so abnormal then I don´t have to care what anyone thinks of me, right?
Well, 8 years later my hair is a normal color, I stopped shopping at goodwill and thrift stores looking for ridiculous polyester suits to wear. I force myself to fit in with the world at face value. I try not to stand out and have extra attention on me. Perhaps four years in a branch of service with so few females made me want to fit in more. Perhaps 6 months in Iraq with everyone on the damn base in my business made me want to just be a wallflower. Maybe just age and maturity. Whatever reason I have come to terms with just being normal. I´m not going to save the world, or become the next Hollywood star. I´m just an average girl who loves life and writing nothing more, nothing less. Funny, when we learn to accept something about ourselves it seems we notice whatever it is we have accepted in everyone else. Like when you are alone and lonely you notice how many people are in love and happy. When you quit smoking you notice how many people around you smoke. Now, that I have accepted how ordinary my existence is I start to notice all of the freaks hiding in normal society. Here are a few examples of people who should go back to elementary school and learn basic social behaviors.
Dirty old men. On what planet in what universe is it okay for a middle aged man to hit on someone who could be his daughter? I get myself into all sorts of trouble by being nice. Too nice. Too smiley. I went on a city tour of Panama when I first got here. I was the only English speaker so I automatically got more attention. The entire tour I had to ignore this man asking me to dinner or what I am doing the rest of my time in Panama. The tugboat engineer also asked me to dinner. I can think of so many other men who think it is somehow their divine right to talk to any pretty young girl who walks by and make a leering comment at her? It´s not. Also inappropriate – whistling at girls. Sure it´s now acceptable behavior for construction workers, but why? Is it a compliment? You can see that we have legs, boobs, maybe a full set of teeth? I don´t know of any woman who gets whistled at or cat calls who feels “special” about it. Today, walking to the internet cafe someone in a car stopped and shouted at me. I´m glad I don´t know what he said. I kept walking. He turned around and followed me continuing to linger out the drivers side window repeating something in Spanish. Who taught you this is ok? If I had pepper spray on me I might have gone up and sprayed you in the fucking face to teach you a lesson.
Talking to strangers who obviously don´t want to be bothered whether they are reading a book, writing a letter, whatever. Clearly, they want to be left alone. Not asked “what are you reading?” or “what are you writing?” All the time this happens to me – coffee shops, restaurants, wherever. I choose to be alone for a reason so leave me the fuck alone.
And finally the jazz concert. This man in a red beret, that was as much part of his identity as his name, started talking to Hugo. He runs or works for an English paper printed in Panama and was asking Hugo and I to submit articles and/or pictures. That wasn´t enough. When he found out I´m American he started telling me about his daughter who had some sort of brain injury and is in a coma. She may or may not make it. So, why is he at a jazz concert instead of by her side wherever she is? Probably because he was full of shit. I don´t know what brought up the military, but I told him I was a Marine so maybe he´d leave me alone. He wasn´t talking positively about the military and usually when you find out someone is a veteran you give them the respect of shutting up. No, he starts talking about his niece who is in the infantry (obviously a lie since women are not allowed in combat arms MOS´s), his own story of being sentenced to jail for 5 years and using his phone call to call army recruiters who then bailed him out. He was offered all sorts of jobs and school, but he refused service. The entire time I am trying to ignore this man, but he keeps on talking. Before he leaves he gives me a leaflet. “This is a historical document. I passed these out on Veteran´s Day at a military cematary…” I wish I was the same person I was at 17 and I had said something, but I have learned to choose my battles wisely. This man is obviously set in his ways. So, if you ever read this, strange beret man at the jazz concert – what on god´s green earth would ever make you think that this is ok behavior? We volunteer to “defend the constitution of the United States of America against all enemies foreign and domestic.” When I signed up to serve nobody asked me “are you willing to fight the Bush Administration´s Corporate War?” Nobody forced anyone to sign up for service. Everyone in the service now has either enlisted or reenlisted during a time when our country is at war. We know what is at stake. Our families know what is at stake. Yet, we do it because we feel it is our obligation. We willingly put our lives on the line so dumb asses like you can run around passing out antiwar propaganda on Veteran´s Day. Just because you are too chicken shit to stand up and fight for your country does not give you the right to take away the respect of America´s servicemen and women who are fighting for your very right to protest. I don´t have a problem with anti-war protesters, organizations like Iraq Vets Against the War. In fact I think more people should demonstrate our rights before the government takes them away! (google the video about the camera and microphone found in the digital tv – Big Brother IS watching!). Like so many others I proudly and honorably fought for our rights. My opinion about the war and Big Brother set aside – it is NOT socially acceptable to handout leaflets like this to families who have lost loved ones in the service on Veteran´s Day.
So, I am calling you all out. The people who think it´s okay to eat until you weigh too much to fit in one seat on an airplane. It´s not medical – you choose to eat until you are so obese you can´t fit in the seat. I´m calling out those who think it´s okay to talk to a girl who is at a bar alone because she is less intimidating then the girls with their boobs and ass hanging out with all their friends. Dirty old men it´s not okay to hit on young, pretty girls because they are smiling in your general direction. People who don´t have the balls to serve their country, but have the balls to be disrespectful to those who laid down their life for our civil liberties – grow up. To the pedophiles and rapists, to the Pee Wee Herman´s who work with kids and then go masturbate in public, to the business men who hire prostitutes instead of going home to their wife and kids. To all of you FREAKS out there – please get help. Learn what is normal and what is not. And if you must wave the freak flag high and proud, don´t judge those who wear it on their sleeve and have learned to accept themselves for who they are.
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