1972. Davis, CA
i remember being told a dirty joke when i was twelve. i had no idea what it meant
but i laughed. later i told the joke to a friend, hoping he’d get it and from his getting it
somehow it would become clear to me.
he didn’t get it and told me so. then he asked me to explain it. i couldn’t, of course,
so i acted like it was beneath me to have to tell him what it meant.
i felt bad; i was just as in the dark as he was, but i made him feel alone in his
ignorance
in p.e. class in junior high jeff walker turned to me in the locker room one day and
said “sixty-nine”. he didn’t preface it with anything, he just said it in a way that
made it clear he was testing me.
he waited for my response.
i assumed it had something to do with sex, but i had no clue what. i nodded my
head and mumbled some sort of acknowledgement that indeed i was in on the
secret meaning of that number. he seemed satisfied, and that was the end of our
exchange.
being thought of as cool was so important that i’d often find myself doing things
that i didn’t want to be doing, pretending to know something i didn’t know, or acting
like i wasn’t scared when i was. it was a drag.
i’m glad it’s over.