When I was a teenager,
we had a crazy youth pastor. Not “he has green hair” crazy but “he is vilifying
that particular, already marginalized kid” crazy. The kind of guy who has one
emo kid in his youth group of maybe seven, so he does a presentation to the
entire church about the evils of goth…in which he mostly shows pictures of punk
bands with no relevant scripture.
I wasn’t the rebellious
kid. I was the kid trying so hard it hurt. That’s the thing I’m ashamed of:
that I wanted so badly for Crazy Youth Pastor to be right. I wanted him to give
me the excuse I needed to believe that I was okay, and that kid- the kid who
made trouble, the kid who made people angry, the kid who probably clung for
comfort to his black leather and chains the way I compulsively layered and
denim-hoarded- to be evil.
We all knew Crazy
Pastor was wrong, on pretty much everything. When he left the room, we admitted
he was wrong. But we did nothing. We were respectful. And we just sat there.
I’ve sat quietly while
someone slandered me out of my job. I’ve held my tongue, terrified, and let
things happen that still give me flashbacks and anxiety attacks. But if I could
live through my entire, hellish adolescence again, I wouldn’t do it to scream
and fight the people who attacked my body or humiliate the people who lied to
my face. I would to go back, and buy black lipstick.
It’s one thing to be
silent while people hurt you. It’s another thing to let them hurt people you’re
supposed to love. Leaders do deserve respect, but they shouldn’t be allowed to
hound and attack and vilify the people who need us.
It would have
embarrassed my mum. It would have enraged my dad. But maybe it would have made
a difference.
Teens? Don’t be younger
me, so eager to be good that you miss what good is. Don’t think that the
opinion of the people around you is going to matter- you can do your best and
get ostracized with no explanation, anyway. (I did- maybe my denim shrouds were
too sensual.) But be the kind of person that 25-year-old you can look back on
and be glad to have been.
There’s a time for
teenage “rebellion,” for honest resistance. There’s a time for refusing to let
the ideals of evil people define you. There’s a time for standing up and
telling people they’re wrong when they will only hate you for it.
That’s when to buy
black lipstick.
