The Long & Lengthy ‘Sound of Silence’

Music is now and has always been a tremendous part of my life. It has flowed through my veins and oozed out of my cells for as long as I can remember. Although I was late to the party of choosing my own music to listen to – I started ballet classes at the age of 3 and danced until I was 16. After a rebellious teenage break, I went back to ballet when I was in college. It wasn’t until college that any of my dance classes had a live piano accompanist; and I remember feeling magic at the barre whether she was playing Chopin or a slowed-down version of Michael Jackson’s Billie Jean. There are musicians, dancers, and music fans alike who love music but don’t read music or understand how it works – only how it sounds. And while I’m certain that their love for music isn’t less than mine or anyone else’s – I do feel like when you can read or play music it changes your relationship with and appreciation for music. Much the same way that you can love and be passionate about animals – but having and caring for a pet gives you a deeper understanding of their lives and personalities and gives you an even deeper respect. Music has an incredible power that for the majority of my life brought me happiness in dark times and inspiration and happiness and every other emotion in between.

Aside from classical music, my childhood and early adolescence was steeped in listening to whatever records my parents were listening to. For me that meant a lot of singer/songwriter and folksy music. I watched every Peter, Paul, & Mary live on PBS special; had a deep love of Simon and Garfunkel, and John Denver. (Take Me Home Country Road’ was the recessional hymn at my grandmother’s funeral) As a result, I am a total sucker for an amazing song that tells a story – regardless of genre. (You’re made of STONE if you aren’t moved by ‘Same Old Lang Syne’ by Dan Fogelberg) Additionally, my parents were fans of Broadway musicals, so Pippin, Grease, Camelot, and Jesus Christ Superstar were also in constant rotation. (This is a story for another post but my parents only saw each other 13 times in person before they got married and when my dad visited my mom in NYC they went to Broadway musicals in the 70’s Broadway heyday) That, combined with my dance always made me feel deeply connected with the music on the page, the ability of lyrics to invade your soul and tell a story, as well as the body’s physical movement & choreography to the sound was deeply ingrained in me from a young age. I took piano lessons and clarinet lessons and was in band in both Middle School and High School. I also spent my high school summers being in the orchestra pit of community theatre productions in Highland, Munster, and Crownpoint Indiana. I devoured music in high school like I was starving to death (goth, industrial, punk, classic rock, alternative, heavy metal – anything that I could groove to), and it was the only thing that would nourish me. That’s probably why it surprises people when I tell them that I spent almost 2 full years in total silence repulsed by the thought of music.

In a previous post, I wrote about how I met my ex-husband in 1994 in the Q101 chatroom on AOL. Our first conversation ever was about the Screeching Weasel album Bark Like A Dog and the Type O Negative album Bloody Kisses. He was as obsessed with music as I was. For 20-some years of our long history together, music was weaved through every seam of the fabric of our relationship. While he was a typical high school skateboarding punk rocker, he also had a long and eclectic history with music. He played basically every instrument, had an encyclopedic knowledge of music from classical to current pop, punk, rock, etc. Our connection through music was a cornerstone of our time with one another. Given everything that happened between him and I in the last decade; I don’t want to give him any positive recognition. But the unbiased reality is that he is/was extraordinarily talented. He was a fringe member of the Chicago-based Weasel Family, he played and recorded with John Jughead Pierson and Danny Vapid. So, he was deeply entrenched in the Chicago punk rock community – but it never fully satisfied him. He was so talented that pop-punk was “too easy” for him. He’d play difficult pieces and classical Spanish guitar angrily after coming home from a show because he’d felt “bored” for the past few hours. As a result of this particular trait of his malignant narcissism, he was always starting and leaving bands (usually after burning a bridge in a spectacular fashion) – always searching for musicians that were like-minded and as outrageously talented as he was. By default, since I was the girlfriend/fiancée/wife, I spent thousands of hours in recording studios, at shows, band practices, auditions, etc. When he wanted to write a song or an album, he did it himself.

That whole cycle usually left my ex with the challenge of trying to find live musicians that he considered “good enough” to play with him live. None of these arrangements ever lasted long because he felt that people couldn’t keep up with him. He didn’t NEED to practice so he was constantly frustrated by people who had to – or people that didn’t get a challenging riff or beat immediately. Therefore, I developed deeply entrenched and special memories and remembrances of literally thousands of songs, genres, local musicians, bands, genres, venues, and shows just from spending so many hours around him. To keep myself busy, I graded students’ Constitution Tests in a crappy recording studio in Joliet during a snowstorm and even wrote some Graduate School papers on a laptop at the bar at the Mutiny (RIP Mutiny Chicago). Hopefully the Class of 2003 never finds out that a couple of punk rockers sitting on the backseat bench of a defunct van that was serving as a couch helped me grade their homework before going out on Friday nights. (They were literate and had an answer key so no harm no foul)

After his accident, my now-ex-husband’s betrayals were laid bare to the world, while I was starting a new and highly stressful job and while he was institutionalized in a behavioral hospital. I was driving on a backcounty road between Kankakee, Illinois and my apartment in Schererville, Indiana by myself after a school board meeting one evening in the summer of 2019. The sun was just starting to set, and the weather was gorgeous – I was excited but nervous to be starting my new position even though my personal life was blowing up. I had my sunroof open and decided to turn on some music on Pandora for the hour+ drive home. Every single song on every single station felt like lightning striking my soul. I thought that maybe changing the channel from the Shins and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs to something silly like pop punk would be somehow less emotional. As Teenage Bottlerocket’s “Stupid Song” came on I started to tear up. The last show we’d been to before our wedding with all of our friends was Teenage Bottlerocket at Brauerhouse. I had once driven 7 hours after teaching all day to see him open for Teenage Bottlerocket in Wisconsin and we hung out with the band until 2 am. I spun the digital dial again. There was literally NOTHING I could hear that didn’t tear me to pieces. We loved cheesy 80’s music. We loved watching Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure. Shit; God Gave Rock & Roll To You was the recessional hymn at our wedding. I couldn’t even listen to Motley Crue, Kiss, or Poison. Beethoven wasn’t an option; crappy early 90’s hip hop was out too; forget about goth, industrial, or any era of punk rock. Even the stuff that he had never liked and was solely my music was still connected to various events in our shared life and what was going on at the time – positive or not. It didn’t help that my ex had released a whole series of songs that were clearly diss-tracks of me/love songs to his mistress. Although I didn’t listen to it – it was out there in the ether and our mutual friends all had opinions about it that despite their best intentions I didn’t need to/want to hear about. If there is something MORE humiliating than being cheated on by your spouse, threatened by them, having your life savings stolen by them – it is having it all immortalized in music that’s out there in the public realm and completely misrepresents the truth. If anything, it did give me a newfound respect for celebrities who have all sorts of lies put out there about them. I was a nobody and had about 5 people asking me about some songs that very subtly shit-talked me – I can’t imagine living like that with thousands of people in your business all of the time.

Sorry Bob, but respectfully – not always the case.

So, I retreated into a monastic-like existence of absolute silence. I buried myself in work. Thankfully, the school turnaround that I was working at didn’t allow me much spare time or energy to spelunk through the caverns of my sadness. But I didn’t listen to a single song (at least not by choice). I didn’t listen to tunes in the car, or while lying baking in the sun at my apartment’s pool, or while I was taking walks in the forest preserve. I was just living in an eerie silence with a soundtrack of laptop keyboard- clacking. That August, I was grocery shopping, and the radio station was softly playing Flock of Seagulls and I abandoned my full cart and walked right out the door. (Paul Reynolds‘ guitar tone was my ex-husband’s inspiration for his own unique tone) It was as if the whole idea that music was some sort of an emotionally healing balm was just laughing in my face. Arguably mankind’s favorite peacemaker, music, was only bringing more war to my soul.

Wiss Auguste wrote “Once again she was free. Once again, she found peace. It was music that freed her soul from the dungeon of her mind.” But for me, hearing any music at all was putting me in a cage of what felt like hopeless sadness and anger. I felt like I was drowning and choking on any lyric and any melody that invaded my ears just poked all of the sore spots in my brain and my heart. At the time, I didn’t even realize that I was making conscious choices to avoid music. Sometimes when you’re in survival mode your mind and body just do what they have to do to get you through. My spirit was battered, and I could only tolerate a bare minimum of emotion while I healed and rebuilt my life one single day at a time. I am not a religious person. I had always felt a connection to the universe around me and believed that putting positive energy into the world would lead to positivity. For many music fanatics, music is our religion. In retrospect, maybe my silence makes sense. I’ve rarely met a religious person of any creed that has had a crisis of faith who hasn’t struggled with their church. Catholics, Muslims, Jews, or any other religious person can lose “God” and stop going to church for weeks, months, or decades and may or may not find their way back into the fold. So, in some ways, maybe my 2 years of silence was me turning my back on the only spirituality that had ever really mattered to me. A colleague of mine has a podcast where he asks guests, “What have you been listening to this week?” Every time I hear either him or his co-host ask that question, I’m a little relieved that no one had been asking me that question from 2019- early 2021. My answer would’ve been a pretty pathetic and somber, “absolutely nothing at all”.

Between May of 2019 and April of 2020, I was living on autopilot. When I wasn’t feeling stressed and overwhelmed with work and the pandemic and my divorce, I was feeling isolated, sad, lonely, and burned with a constant and simmering anger. I went to work for 12-16 hours a day, I took long walks, I took long naps cuddled up with my cat – but I didn’t listen to any music. I talked on the phone during my work commutes, I watched Netflix shows on my phone during my 3-mile walks at the Forest Preserve, I fast-forwarded through music-heavy portions of TV shows or movies when I watched them. By the time I realized that I was even doing it, I had already been doing it for 6 months or more. Eventually, despite the pandemic I started to think about dating again. Even during the height of the pandemic while submerged in a toxic work environment, things eventually settled into a routine that allowed me to start to decompress a little at a time. Like a teakettle, some of my emotions started to leak out and gradually reduced the pressure inside of me. Without really realizing it, music started to creep back into my life. I still avoided any music that was related to my ex-husband. I didn’t listen to anything that had been played at our wedding or his favorite bands.

I have always been and always will be a huge Keanu Reeves fan. I have loved Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure for decades. As a History teacher, I even showed it to my 6th & 7th graders and had them do a time traveling project at the end of the year when I was still in the classroom. Anytime a sequel or additional movies in a series that I like come out; I usually watch the other movies beforehand to get psyched up. In early August of 2020, I knew that Bill & Ted Face the Music was about to come out. I wasn’t sure if watching the movies and hearing the soundtrack would make me sad or not. I knew that I had progressed a lot in the previous year. I wasn’t just surviving but I was thriving – but I also didn’t want to back slide either. As a result, I watched Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure one weekend, Bogus Journey the following weekend, & Face the Music on a third weekend. I figured it would be better to spread out the experience a little and to wait until mid-September to get started on the 3-film process.

As a side note, I went on my first date with my current and amazing boyfriend on September 5, 2020. We wouldn’t officially get together until the following February, but we texted often while we were first getting to know each other during those months. One of the things that he had asked me about (of course) was my divorce, etc. He had asked me how I knew I was ready to date since my divorce wasn’t really that long ago – and I remember telling him that “I gave enough of my life to someone who destroyed me and made me feel awful. I won’t waste one more second on him now that I know who I am and what I want. Life is just too short.” I had no idea if I was over my ex-husband or not – but I knew that I wanted to be and I refused to allow him to prevent me from enjoying (of all things!) Bill & Ted. When I watched Bill & Ted’s Bogus Journey home alone with my cat in my lap – I knew that iconic final scene would be a real test. The outrageous concept that it takes Bill & Ted 40 years of time traveling to figure out how to play a single Kiss song notwithstanding, as I heard the opening chords of God Gave Rock & Roll To You start, I noticed that I was tapping my foot. I wasn’t feeling pain – I was just simply enjoying the moment. I wasn’t thinking about walking down the aisle with my husband at the end of our wedding to it; I was just enjoying Bill & Ted winning the Battle of the Bands. It somehow felt like I was waking up from being hypnotized.

I woke up slowly though. It was another whole year before I found my way fully back to music. When I started my new job at the Middle School where I was once in band myself – at first, I avoided the Band Room when I could. I was no longer fast forwarding through musical parts of TV shows or movies, and I occasionally was listening to the radio while I was in the car – but I was still actively avoiding emotional or personal music connections. When you wake up from a long sleep or heal from deep wounds you move slowly at first. Before you heal, you get medicine or take painkillers so that your pain doesn’t overwhelm your body and you can heal while being numb enough to tolerate life. Over time, burns callous over, and you grow new skin and old wounds don’t hurt anymore. The first step in the process for me was music creeping back into the background of my life unnoticed and serving as” just music”/neutral background noise. Slowly, it started becoming an occasional conscious choice again – and eventually back to what it is now – a joyful and cathartic necessity pulsing through my life – just like the air in my lungs.

Now, I have a newfound love for and a rejuvenated relationship with music. I have an amazing job that I love and a healthy, joyful relationship with a man that loves and respects me. Not only is he as passionate about music as I am – but we have made new and special memories with a fresh and exciting soundtrack. We have our own awesome and mutual musical experiences together. As a Chicago House Music enthusiast, he’s introduced me to new music that I’d never heard, creating a vibe that is exciting and fresh and fun. We went to DJ Collete’s birthday party at Smart Bar, danced to Tchami at the iconic Club Space in Miami, went on a behind the scenes tour of Paisley Park in Minneapolis and saw Prince’s shoe collection and held his SuperBowl guitar (basking in the eternal presence of one of the greatest musicians to ever live), we do silly dances while making dinner, and we watch old Talking Heads, David Bowie, Ramones, and Queen concerts while cuddled up happily on the couch.

Music is freeing and fun and fresh again. For the most part, even the artists that were the most connected to my relationship with my ex-husband are basically back in my constant rotation. While there are some songs that bring back a sharp twinge of sadness for me and that I don’t choose to listen to voluntarily anymore (Green Day’s ‘Ordinary World‘ that we danced to at our wedding; or Yaz’s ‘Only You‘ that was considered ‘our song’ for most of our relationship; or other songs that we’d had a special connection to) – but I no longer actively avoid them either. My ability to be spiritual and feel connected to the universe has returned. My world is no longer silent and painful – but rather is full of music and emotion again. Instead of draining me, it now energizes me and powers me. Not only do I want to listen to my old favorites, but I want to discover new favorites and feel an energy that I haven’t had in a long time. The next time someone asks me what I’ve been listening to, my answer will be a stark difference from the ‘silence’ of 2020-21. (Unless I’m referring to the song the Sounds of Silence by Simon & Garfunkel which I have been listening to on the first edition Concert in the Park vinyl that my man bought me for my birthday – because I’ve definitely been spinning that lately) In fact, the current playlist will be long and varied and full of options – just like whatever the future may have in store.

Square Pegs and Round Holes

Being a middle and high school teacher for decade(s) has given me a lot of experience with cliques, subcultures, groups, “scenes”, and teen dynamics. Of course as an adult, everyone has their own distinct memories of living through those dynamic/traumatizing/formative years – but when you see it day in and day out through multiple trends and variations daily at work – then as an adult your reflections tend to stay rooted a little more in realism rather than the rose-colored glasses of a long-removed adolescence.

There are so many things missing from this flowchart!

While most of my college or high school friends would have described me as a “goth kid”, I always hated being put into a box. Then, (and now) I am more likely to describe myself as a “nonconformist”. I never quite fit in entirely with one group over another in high school. Of course, going to a high school of less than 900 students; I didn’t have much of a choice. There were maybe 3 goth kids, a couple of punks, a couple of skateboarders, a raver or two, and a few random hippies. Everyone else was some sort of a variation of the typical preppie kid. Those of us that were involved in some sort of a subculture had no choice but to stick together at school because the rest of the “gen-pop” kids simply referred to our entire diverse collective as “the freaks.” In some ways, I’m incredibly grateful for the experience. All of the kids that I knew from other local (and much larger) public high schools were usually “stuck in their clique”. The punks hung with the punks, the skaters hung with the skaters, etc. and in addition to the gen-pop kids harassing them – their groups harassed each other (primordial internet flame-wars, fights, etc). Every teenage scene still has a certain level of pretention to it. Each clique tends to move and act with a singular “hive mind” that looks down on all of the other hives. Having been deprived of having a single scene to completely immerse myself in – I just floated from one day to the next embracing the parts of each group that I learned from, enjoyed, listened to, or liked – without the added pressure of ever truly fitting in. You couldn’t really be shunned by “the freaks” (unless you joined the football team – and in reality at my small school not even that wouldn’t have mattered much). In a lot of ways my nonconformity/lack of exclusive “loyalty” to any particular scene is what built the foundation of my adult personality and eventually my teaching philosophy and the path of my career in education. The experience taught me to be multi-faceted, appreciate other people’s differences/strengths, have a thick skin, and to be courageous, empathetic, and collaborative.

I have always considered myself a “late bloomer” to the music world. When I was little, the only music that I heard was classical ballet music in my dance classes, or whatever oldies/folk/talk radio that my dad listened to in the car. When all of my young tween friends were discovering New Kids on the Block, I was reading books and knew about 4 songs by John Denver. By the time I got to Junior High, I had finally started to listen to music for pleasure. From the beginning I guess I was “weird” in that I didn’t have a defined or set “taste”. The first CD’s I bought with my own money (at Coconuts Music) in 7th grade were the soundtrack to the Bodyguard and Ugly Kid Joe (I can’t believe they still exist btw). My taste has always been eclectic. Both then and now I was/am just as likely to listen to Peter, Paul, and Mary, Chopin, KMFDM, Nine Inch Nails, Screeching Weasel, Prince, or Depeche Mode. Mixed tapes in my earliest driving days were unpredictable. One of my favorite tapes had “Misty Mountain Hop” by Led Zepplin followed immediately by Screeching Weasel’s “I Hate Led Zepplin”. The irony of loving them both and blasting them in rapid succession was a favorite part of my carpool ride home from school down Hohman Avenue. One of those commutes listening to my crazy eclectic mixed tapes may actually have been the subconscious beginnings of my eventually becoming a teacher. (Which at the time didn’t even exist as a fully-formed thought in my mind. I went to college with the full intention of becoming a dentist)

One of the kids that I hung out with, Mike Hentic – a true punk through and through (2-foot mohawk and all), was in my car with a couple of his other friends. I didn’t go to school with Mike and I was usually a quiet person out in public who didn’t say too much until I felt that I really had something to say – so he had no idea that I was “smart” before that day. I remember wearing a Siouxsie and the Banshees t-shirt and a typical black skirt and boots that day but when he got into the car he noticed we were listening to the punk bands the Queers and the Descendants. A friend of Mike’s that was with him muttered the usual critique of “are you goth or what? why are you listening to punk? what a poseur.” After reminding him (in a typically teen angsty way) that my poseur gas was actually giving him a ride, I asked him what he thought being a punk meant. He gave me the usual “doing whatever you want and not caring what people think!” I told him that me listening to whatever I felt like while wearing whatever I felt like- despite what other people (including punks) thought – was me living exactly the philosophy that he was describing. At some point, I told him if he wanted to get right down to it, Socrates started the punk movement because of his firm and public ability to tell people who tried to control his thoughts to “get bent”, and drank poison instead – all while wearing a simple white toga. He humored me and eventually told me that I was a nerd because I knew so much about history. Later on that summer when someone ELSE called me a poseur at the local diner hangout, Mike just said, “dude trust me she’s punk as hell. But unless you want to learn about the crusty BC year punks just let it be.” I was picked on for being a goth that listened to punk music and was simultaneously ridiculed by some goths who also called me a poseur because my interests extended into more than one musical and fashion genre.

As a result, I grew a thick skin and learned to unapologetically like whatever I wanted to like. That thick skin has served me well teaching Middle and High School kids for 20 years – and is quite helpful in school administration (if you think teenagers are tough to deal with try taking on some pissed off adult high school teachers). If you can shake off a 17-year old in 1997 yelling “freak kid” out their Plymouth Acclaim window while throwing cans of Pepsi at you – it seems like less of a big deal when a 6th grader in 2008 says “Ms. H please don’t wear that shirt with those pants – woof!” If you can tolerate a peer cheerleader in 1996 saying, “Umm what’s with the makeup Morticia? Are you TRYING to look ugly?” then it doesn’t seem like as big of a deal when a group of teachers tell you you that the SEL project that you worked on all summer long for their benefit is something that they consider to be a “total waste of time”. Dragons and alligators have nothing on this former goth kid’s pale skin.

A trait that I never considered myself to have when I was younger was courage. I wasn’t the first kid to raise their hand in class or give their presentation. Then, (and still now) I consider myself an introvert. But I suppose there’s a certain level of “courage” (or attention-seeking) involved in bleaching your hair white, dying it blue, wearing plastic pants, feather boas, and funeral veils when everyone else is wearing GAP jeans, sports jerseys, and baseball hats. My friends and I knew that we’d get comments or stares or peoples’ eyes rolled in our general direction when we rolled up to River Oaks or Southlake Mall looking like a combination of Rocky Horror Picture Show walk-of-shamers, anarchist weirdos, and gender-benders. We did it anyway. We faked it until we made it. If it bothered us – we didn’t let anyone know it and defiantly trekked through Record Swap, Gadzooks, or the food court anyway. The early to mid-90’s didn’t exactly have the same vibe or expectation of “tolerance” that we have now. (We are not THERE yet as a society in terms of tolerance and in fact these past couple of years may have set us back a bit; but there has definitely been some growth) For example; Brad Pitt just got praised for wearing a skirt to a red carpet event. My buddy Colin got a beer thrown at him for wearing the sparkly dress in the picture below that was taken in 1999. As a society perhaps we’ve grown a little bit – but it still takes courage to be different and it always has. That courage has helped me tackle things like being told “you’re teaching Sex Ed to 7th graders next year”, “you’re giving a School Board Presentation on the effectiveness of the program you created”, “you’re going to get a union grievance”, “you’re going to train an auditorium of 1000 teachers”….. or any other variety of difficult/uncomfortable things that I’ve faced over the years. If I could walk into a mall wearing fishnets as sleeves without batting a glittery eyelash I suppose I’m pretty well-fortified from any nerves that I may get from facing high school kids and teachers.

Constantly having to defend my own interests and unconventional style helped to make me a lot more accepting of others as a teenager. While other kids in subcultures and cliques fought amongst themselves, I just did my own thing. I didn’t NEED any particular group to accept me. (I also attribute this to my independent nature as a kid who liked to play by herself – see a previous post). As a result, once I got into my first classroom, I wasn’t bothered too much by tweens making borderline “disrespectful”/shock-inspiring comments. Besides wouldn’t it be hypocritical of me to get on a kid for being a little shocking when I was wandering through the mall in full on pleather and doc martens in the 90’s? I don’t usually get escalated easily. If you can’t make fun of yourself and be vulnerable in front of your students or your staff life gets very stressful and unhappy very quickly. (Have you even made it in 21st century education until your students make a diss-meme about you that you laugh at completely un-offended in front of them? Then make it into a running gag in the class?)

Diss meme means you’ve MADE it!

When I was a teenager, I had a carefully cultivated goth image but was able to code switch from one crowd to another in order to “participate productively within every group” – even if they didn’t fully accept me as one of their own. I had a passion and curiosity for learning about other people and their interests and tried to listen more than I talked. As a result, there were and still are very few people that I can’t at least marginally relate to. That empathy and ability to see things through multiple lenses (the punk lens, the goth lens, the jock lens, the administrator lens, the teacher lens, the parent lens, the student lens), makes it possible for me to adapt to (note – adapt to but not necessarily like) whatever role is needed given a particular situation at school. I can be the listener to the upset kid whose parents are getting divorced, I can enthusiastically applaud the student who just did his first slam dunk on the basketball court (even though I HATE school athletics I can embrace being a “poseur” and cheer my little black heart out), and I can rock out to support the kids at the band concert (even if they’re playing the WORST songs ever) . Without changing my core beliefs, I can be supportive and find the value in others’ talents even when they vastly differ from my own or involve things I would never choose to do myself. Every group and situation has something that you can find to like or at least appreciate within it (I mean within reason because racists or hate groups don’t have ANY redeeming qualities – I’m talking about types of school cliques, music genres, or subcultures not political parties or hate groups). Life is just too short to limit yourself to being afraid of being called a poseur. I’ll never be a math teacher – but I sure as hell will beg, borrow, and steal awesome strategies I’ve seen math teachers use – just like I’ll NEVER be a denim-shorts-wearing country girl but will rock out with Hank Williams and John Denver anytime.

A lot of the typical goth or punk kids that I went to school with all LOATHED school. They took pride in being the biggest assholes they could to anyone in a position of authority (parent, teachers, cops, managers at restaurants, etc). I’m sure we all have memories of the “punk kids” with mohawks, prison-style homemade tattoos, and ripped up plaid pants being wildly and openly disrespectful to teachers, storming out of classrooms, yelling at cops, or skateboarding down a hallway. Or the Goth kids cutting class to smoke cloves behind the athletic shed and giving teachers the finger (South Park gets Goth kids SO RIGHT!) Or the hippies hiding under the bleachers smoking pot and getting into fights with the baseball team. But that was never me. I may have broken my private school’s dress code openly by wearing heavy black makeup, ripped up fishnet tights, outrageous jewelry, and dark lipstick but I never misbehaved (at least not by being disrespectful). I never got a detention or got sent to the dean’s office (for anything OTHER than my clothes or makeup). I didn’t give teachers a hard time or take a “damn the man f-you” attitude. In fact, it really bothered me when other goth or punk kids DID do that. In fact, the teachers that many of my peers hated the most were some of my favorites. I can still remember that Mrs. Cantwell (dreaded by my peers); taught me how to take my writing to the next level. Her “harsh” grading pushed me to new heights. Her advice sophomore year and high expectations prepared me more for college than any of the typical “popular teachers” ever had. She was tough as nails and had high expectations of her students and herself – which in a lot of ways is also how I am. I hated when other kids disrespected her.

This is the image inside every non-conformists’ head when faced with something they think is trash. But whether or not it stays in your head usually the makes all the difference.

I was always a subliminal/understated sort of semi-anarchist/disrupter. I have never thought it was useful to convince people that you were an asshole if you wanted to change things. In order to change systems it requires collaboration. And frankly, no one wants to collaborate with an asshole. It’s probably just one of the reasons why violent revolutions throughout history fail – assholes who won’t collaborate, compromise, or get others on board with their ideas. If you want to take down systems, laws, or institutions that are bogus – you have to actually understand them. Being seen as an idiot or an ignorant/rude asshole won’t get you what you want – it will alienate you from anyone who might actually agree with you and be able to help you. Taking your anger out on people that have no influence on the architects of those systems won’t get you what you want either. Telling a teacher to fuck off because you didn’t do your homework really isn’t the way to address educational inequality or the oppression that you feel that your school’s dress code represents. I’ve always believed that you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.

The punk scene is chock full of anger and piss and vinegar; and the goth scene is FULL of “look-down-your-nose at idiotic/uneducated people” pretention. But the most influential punks/goths that I have known over the years just aren’t assholes. They listen, create and cultivate an audience that they treat with respect, and move toward solutions and/or advocacy methods that promote win-win solutions. I used to tell my friends all the time that “your getting kicked out of school for being a dick doesn’t make you a punk – it makes you stupid. And then you fulfill every stereotype out there that people have about people like us – that we’re idiots who don’t care about anything and aren’t educated and don’t have jobs, and don’t have any ideas worth listening to. Being a nonconformist doesn’t mean you have to be an asshole.” One raver kid at my high school that was lumped in with us “freaks” organized a peaceful boycott of our schools’ vending machines. When the price of a can of Pepsi was raised from 25 cents to 75 cents everyone was upset. He organized a boycott of the machine that was peaceful and had literally the entire student body (even those that usually threw Pepsi at him for wearing glittery eyeliner) participating. The price was changed back. (Those were the days!) If he had just vandalized the machine and gotten kicked out of school – we probably would’ve ended up with no vending machine at all. Everyone got together to collaborate with him toward a common goal – no one got kicked out of school – and we all ended up getting what we wanted (25 cent cans of soda). A small victory for sure – but an example of effective collaboration with an unconventional leader towards a common goal.

I never believed that a system could really be “completely taken down” from the inside – but rather that it could be incrementally changed from within – and that it would never get changed at all without understanding it’s history, how it worked, or it’s intricacies. I rely on this belief a lot when it comes time to work on my school(s)’ Improvement Plans every year. You don’t walk into a school and burn it all down and throw out the baby with the bath water and have a “revolution” to increase the diversity or equity within your building. You don’t just fire everyone and start fresh. You can’t expel all 1000+ students and get new ones and start over. But you CAN study and understand what you have, the strengths and weaknesses of everyone that you’re working with, determine what you need, and then collaborate as a cohesive group to change the parts of the system that need improvement. You can’t do that if you’re too busy burning everything down while everyone on your team thinks you’re a rude asshole. You can be angry at the way things are and you can ALSO be productive in changing things effectively without making enemies out of everyone you meet (although you’re definitely going to make enemies if you’re trying to improve any system in a school, business, or society in general).

A lot of people that were heavily involved in a subculture in their adolescence or adulthood will describe it as a “family”. A place that they felt welcomed into and fit in with. A safe community where they felt valued and cared for. Unfortunately, many of the people my own age that I encounter that have this rather fond and rosy view are in fact, men. Like society in general, subcultures were a microcosm of a society. (And society favors men. They make the rules and are generally the gatekeepers. They manage the bands, book the shows, sell the tickets, control the record companies, own the fashion companies , run the stores, and frankly they make the money if there’s money to be made). I don’t have all of the same rosy memories of goth/punk shows and “the scene” that many of my male peers seem to. These memories tend to branch off in different directions mostly when we talk about shows. (Although that’s not to say I didn’t have the time of my life at a lot of shows – I definitely did!) While many guys describe these experiences as fun and say that the crowd(s) had a certain kind of unity (“if you fall someone picks you up!”) – for teen girls and young women in that scene the experience was often different.

When I was 16-23 I’m sure I would’ve loved to be close to the stage when I saw my favorite bands and idols in the flesh. It looked really fun from the back of the venue. But the few times that I ventured (or was allowed) close; it just seemed like a some sort of exercise in toxic masculinity (Mind you not ALWAYS but more times than not). A lot of those “pits” were just an excuse for people (ie guys) to fight without repercussions. And some girls who were just trying to enjoy themselves and actually watch the band were aggressively elbowed, punched, hit, trampled, or more nefariously groped by guys who used the excuse “stay out of the pit if you don’t want to fight/get groped/manhandled!” (Young ladies were not always blameless in this scenario either – some of them were also wildly aggressive fighters too) Every girl that I personally associated with back then knew better than to wear a skirt to a punk or a metal show. In reflection, the irony is that many groups at these shows who claimed to be “against the system!” and into “unity” didn’t always seem very into actual gender equity and respect when the rubber was hitting the road at shows. Of course these are broad generalizations – a lot of young men that I interacted with back then weren’t like that on an individual basis and tended to “protect” their female friends. But the ironic fact that a scene that claimed to be inclusive even needed to “protect” it’s own members from one another wasn’t lost on me then or now.

Of course there’s a difference between equity and equality. Many young people involved in a subculture that’s “for equality” meant just that. It’s equality (“You’re in the pit just like the big boys so I can punch you!”) vs. equity (“everyone paid their money to see the band and you’re really short and can’t see from the back so I’ll move over to the left a little so you can see”). The few times in my show-going career that I refused to allow myself to intimidated out of getting close to the stage; usually (NOT ALWAYS) crappy things occurred. For example, I was projectile vomited on by someone who got punched in the gut during a “mosh pit” at a Strung Out show; someone literally tore my shirt off my back at a Nine Inch Nails concert, I was shoved onto the floor at a Skinny Puppy show, and an entire beer was dumped deliberately on my head by a 6’5 dude when I asked him if he could move over a little bit so I could see the stage better at an MxPx show. Those were NOT experiences that made me feel “unity” or “accepted” or a “part of a family” or “protected by my crew”. I don’t bring up these experiences to throw shade at my fellow male music-loving subculture members. They’re just to point out that in my own experience as a “non-conformist” these “anti-system” groups didn’t ever break too far away from most of the societal molds they claimed to fight against.

So I suppose in some senses these guys ARE right – the group was a “family” – and some families don’t always include everyone in a way that makes everyone feel valued and protected. Some families are dysfunctional. Although no one likes being puked on, I am grateful for these experiences and the perspective it has given me on working with groups and crowds. I try to recall those experiences when I’m creating classroom communities or committees or issuing student disciplinary consequences now. Am I hearing all of the voices? Am I creating an experience where all can hear and value one another and everyone is safe? Are there people at the back of the venue who are trying to see and participate more that I can safely draw in? Are people participating bravely and being pushed down or abused by their peers as a reward for their efforts? Am I facilitating that unsafe culture or am I working against those behaviors? What strategies can I use or implement that will protect everyone’s voice and let change occur in a meaningful way for everyone in the venue?

I wouldn’t trade my adolescent experience for the world – warts and all. I had the pleasure of meeting and interacting with a wide array of freaks, weirdos, geniuses, jerks, maniacs, musicians, artists, and scholars from a myriad of backgrounds that had a wide variety of philosophies and life experiences. I gained an encyclopedic knowledge of music, ideas, bands, books, fashions, and vernaculars. But more than that I also gained an ability to withstand both mainstream AND pretentious subcultural ribbing. I grew the kind of thick skin that has helped me throughout a career that is frequently scrutinized and criticized from within and without on a daily basis – and I defiantly enjoy it anyway. I learned to unapologetically love what I love and to be who I am regardless of what anyone thought about it. I learned to embrace parts of myself that not even those from a similar “hive” could fully appreciate. I learned to melt everything that I encountered or loved down into an amalgamation of who I would eventually become as a person and as an educator. Additionally, the thick skin I had to grow in high school and college helped me when I was in the classroom as well. There are few professions as cliquey as teaching. Teacher-on-teacher bullying is a true issue within schools. But having a strong sense of who you are and what you value – as well as the ability to buck the system and do your own thing – helps you from becoming a victim (or a perpetrator) of that and facilitates your ability to continue to do what’s best for your own classroom/students/building without giving in to external pressures/toxic systemic practices.

While back then I may have resented being called a poseur and critiqued the antiestablishment “typical asshole” attitude of my “crew” (that I was always on the outskirts of being embraced by), I learned to appreciate multiple lenses and perspectives. Now; I know who I am and what I believe in. I use that self-awareness to authentically be more than one thing (a listener, a leader, a mentor, a friend, a parent-figure, a teacher-leader, etc.) dependent on what the situation requires – while simultaneously not putting on phony airs. I know what I am NOT and try to rely on other’s strengths and expertise when I need them. At the end of the day I want to do what’s best for students (which may not be the same for each student) – sometimes regardless/in spite of what the adults/institution may prefer.

In the words of another punk rock hero; Jack Sparrow, “Take What You Can; Give Nothing Back.” Take what you can enjoy and use from the classics (whether they be John Dewey or Mozart), the rockers (whether they be Black Sabbath or Van Halen), the mainstream gods (whether they be Prince or Lady GaGa), the punks (be they the Dead Kennedys or the Smoking Popes), the goths (be they Siousxie & the Banshees or the Sisters of Mercy), the synthpoppers (be they Erasure or Squeeze), the rivetheads (be they Skinny Puppy or Einstürzende Neubauten), the hippies (be they Cat Stevens or OAR), or any combination of those and countless others. Give nothing back – remain strong and rooted in your values when faced with the peer pressure of your colleagues who want you to conform to what’s easiest. Give nothing back – don’t back down when you face resistance from a staff that is unwilling to reflect on their biases or change. Give nothing back – don’t become an inauthentic version of yourself in front of kids who may need exactly what you are. You don’t have to like everything – but you should know and enjoy as much as you can about as many things as you can. Don’t be that guy pushing people down in the pit – be the one welcoming everyone to safely participate and be included in their truest and most authentic way. When kids see that being an eclectic and eccentric nonconformist who wants to burn the system down (in an educated way without being an asshole) is both possible AND fun – they just might stop dividing themselves into pretentious cliques and work together. Or at the very least; they might learn to collaborate despite their different tastes, styles, and opinions. Maybe our world needs more multi-faceted thinkers and less closed-off overly opinionated mini-cultures (that are still as systematized and male-centered as the ones they claim to be fighting against). Be a hard ass who isn’t an asshole – a warrior who isn’t immovable; a lover and a fighter. Stay rad but without being a jagoff. Party hard but always work harder. Be that example for the quiet, smart, rivethead kid with dreams of being a saboteur and disrupter that also likes to be nice and is into learning algebra. Maybe don’t show up to work in bondage pants everyday but don’t freak out if the kids see that tattoo every once in a while. Actions speak louder than words. The biggest punk of all time wore a toga and the biggest goths of all time took down the corrupt Roman Empire. (It’s both a history AND a Goth joke geez!)