“Because if he doesn’t ask you out, he doesn’t get rejected.”

Thanksgiving, huh?  I reject this holiday.  Thanksgiving is where I take out my inner angst at being lied to while calling it education.  Not too thankful for that, yo.  (I just finished practicing my drums to current hip-hop songs.)  I was also raised under the influence of Native American culture.  (That’s the academic spin for my ego.)  😃

My inner teenager is running the show, today.  She’s bent on making up for the fact I skipped being a moody little shit at the proper time.  Fauxlidays belong to her.  When I was a teenager, I had a car.  I bought it with money I earned babysitting, raking leaves, and modeling for a department store.  (The latter wasn’t terribly lucrative because they usually gave me the option of being paid in a gift certificate, and I often used it to buy video games.)

I drove a mustard yellow Datsun B-210 (or something.)  It had a manual transmission, and I was taught by a fellow student on the only hill in town (at night while it was snowing.)  For those of you who didn’t grow up in South Dakota or a similar rural city;  we could legally drive at age 12 so long as we were on our parents’ property.  (This was widely known among local 12-year-olds.)

Those of us who lived in the city proper had to wait until age 14.  I bought my first car at age 12.  (More like my then 13-year-old brother used my money to buy his first car when I was 12, then allowed me to name it Mine.)  We used it exclusively for joyriding in the K-mart parking lot.  My nephew usually joined us (because letting a 10-year-old drive is hilarious.)

Fantasy Canyon in the Utah desert, USA.

So anyway, when I got to high school I attended public school the first year, which back then was 10th grade.  I use the word attended amusingly.  I’m the reason the school district adopted a stricter attendance policy.  I missed 180 days in one school year, (or at least that’s the number I remember.)  I loathed going to school.  So I didn’t.  Much.

Instead, I drove to the nearest reservation to get the truth about American history.  It had a powerful influence on how I think.  I thought talking to the chief of a tribe was fabulous.  It never crossed my mind the poor guy was mostly exasperated by my constant questions.  (That was before I understood the continuous inquiries into why I wasn’t in school were a polite hint.)

I spent more afternoons there than in class.  He sent me on (what I told myself were) quests to find answers to some of my questions.  (I was hint proof back then.)  I visited the capitol building, a courtroom, and some university libraries.  I was polite and neatly groomed, which has always worked well for me.  I also spoke like someone who spent far more time reading than talking to others.  (It rarely works out well.  Sigh.)

In hindsight, I realize I probably didn’t have valid access to any of these places, let alone while I was supposed to be in school.  White privilege is so bizarre sometimes.  I know they didn’t question me because they very likely never spoke to a black person before, and were too distracted by the experience.  It resulted in my having a lot of freedom to basically go wherever I wanted as a teen.  (I paid heavily for this unfortunate habit in my initial years of service.  It almost cost me my life somewhere (too) close to Area 51.)

I was used to being the unicorn by default, but in the Army, everyone is a green unicorn.  (It’s so much better the Army way.)  Oofda.  A colossal guilt trip just landed on me.  I’ve used autism as an excuse to ask questions in classrooms when I knew it might not be appropriate, (but I wanted the answers more than I wanted to be honorable at the moment and ran with it.)  Ooh; that’s going to leave a scar.  😞😣

(I mentally bookmarked it to agonize over later, when my inner adult is back in charge.)  I’ve never been able to buy into the concept of land ownership.  It’s just too ridiculous, and I have trust issues.  Heh.  I’ve purchased property twice.  Both times, it messed with me until I got rid of it.  It felt like I was willingly stepping into a trap.  Like believing dollars are backed up by gold ridic.

I also grew up believing life is the most valuable thing there is.  (The Army failed to have any sort of adverse effect on this belief.) It’s like accepting reality is real, (to me.)  It’s not going to be shaken easily.  Also, that the only sin is to steal;  such as someone’s free will or life.  I believe whenever a death occurs, we become less as a whole.  Less incredible as a concept and force in nature.  I don’t think anyone has a right to take someone’s life or free will.

I don’t care much about theft of property.  I don’t think it matters in the big picture.  It’s why I don’t get upset if someone takes something that legally belongs to me.  I don’t encourage or invite it because it doesn’t mesh with the rules of my community.  But it’s not part of me, so I see no reason to feel bad.  My cat doesn’t count because Amelia Bedelia is alive.  You can’t own another’s life.

Welp.  My inner teenager is done sitting here sharing deep thoughts.  It’s her day, so I’m off to angst through music.  Below is the t-shirt I’m sporting today.  Kind of says it all, eh?  Hope your Thanksgiving was great (if that’s your thing.)  🙃

Thanksgiving bird by @Acraigl