Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Mama’s Early-Bloomer

I’m not too far from my twenty-first birthday, and every year so far has been a journey on a yellow brick road shrouded in presumption. Often I’ll say that if a motherfucker wants to make a presumption about me, then let the motherfucker presume away, but there are a couple of things that I feel have come to a place where they need be set straight, the first being relatively trivial and the second one being on a heavier note.

Firstly, the whole late-bloomer, twenty year old virgin thing - When I was in high school, I was the victim of a lot of misguided presumptions regarding my sex life. I’ve never been one to brag, so rarely did I ever feel comfortable defending my man-parts in that respect, but it was always a massive blow to my ego. The hypocritical thing here is that I often made the exact same assumptions about other students at the same time. I would always just assume a bulk of any of the advanced academia classes were one hundred percent unexposed, unkissed virgins and would stay that way well past there eighteenth birthdays. When it came to my year twelve exams when everybody actually did start turning eighteen, I had been proven wrong left, right and centre. By then, a number of them either were in sexual relationships, got diddled somewhere along the way or, at the very least, had had their tongue down someone’s throat. Exactly like the others who had wrongly assumed about me, some of them had been sexually active for years, even while I was ignorantly casting the dispersion that they wouldn’t for decades.

This transformed my entire judgement process. Whenever I meet somebody now, I just always assume that they are buttering somebody’s toast, regardless of their circumstances. I let the surprise be that they aren’t having sex, as opposed to being surprised when I find out that they are. Believe it or not, eight years on from when the assumptions first began in the school yard; they are still made about me. I don’t understand what it is, I mean, people know that I’m twenty. They must just see the dental braces, the skinny, pale body, the thirteen year old fuzz on my face that takes a week to grow, not to mention, the strong bond I have with my mother, and they’re brains immediately scream ‘virgin!’. Regardless of the reason, I thought it was insane back when I was fifteen, so imagine how my ego feels now in my twenties.

That brings me to my next point – Parental relationships. I am a self-proclaimed mama’s boy; there is no doubt. I live with my mother and life at home is great. She’s a caring, hard-working, understanding and loving parent. There isn’t anything I can’t speak to her about, and vice versa. She’s trusted me enough to let me do whatever I like since I became a teenager. We even do lunch; we do movies; we do concerts, et cetera – in other words, she’s more of a really good roommate that I’ve made a habit of freeloading off, as opposed to a parent.

Two things: the first being - Having this sort of relationship with my mother is in no way and never has been indicative of the fruits that fuel either my social or sex life. I have meals out with my mother because we wanted to try out a restaurant; I see movies with her because we both thought the trailers looked good; I see concerts with her because we both happen to like the artist; not because I’m single, and not because I’m friendless. This may be hard for some to understand, but strong platonic and sexual relationships can coexist with strong paternal ones; if there is anything you take away from this post, don’t forget that.

The second thing – People who find the strong paternal relationship I just mentioned unconventional or peculiar, I really feel sorry for. Just because your parents are part of some tightly-corseted faith or you can’t hold a conversation with them or your dad’s always on the turps or whatever, does not make me the unorthodox one, nor does it give you a free pass to look at me strangely. I apologise to the ones that have been unlucky in this respect, but to those that have the opportunity, I think every child should have this sort of relationship with their parent and their parent with their children; I mean, this isn’t the highly-strung 1920s anymore; c’mon.

Just take it from me, no matter how disgusting the attitude, how pasty the skin, how strong the family bond, how utterly boring the conversation, there is always - at the very least - a few people out of seven billion out there who want to touch their genitals, and probably already have; write that down, motherfuckers.

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