About eight years ago, I took a Solo-Performance workshop at Second City in Chicago a few years back, before I did Stand-up, before I knew myself or my experience like I do now. Before I could see myself.
The instructor had us write a monologue and perform it for our classmates. I wrote a story about being 10 years old, and my friend and I were playing on the playground near her house and this boy started chasing us until he caught me on my bike and wouldn't let me go. My friend ran to her house and got her older brother who was about fifteen. He came storming down the street and hit this kid in the chest with his basketball.
The story sounds like a typical chivalrous rescuer fantasy of a pre-teen girl. Except that my friend's brother used to beat on my friend- who was also a 10-year old girl. And the boy menacing us was about 10 too. But at least he was male.
I thought of my friend's brother was a fucking psycho-path. Until he rescued me, and then I had a crush on him, ignoring that he was indiscriminate with his violence. And I would keep those blinders on in regards to the men I loved, or at least lived with from then till I sobered up in 1996.
There I was in the bosom of comedy and I picked some nugget from the Wally Lamb pocket of my brain to write about. (I'm a big Wally Lamb fan).
But I did the monologue and when the teacher asked for some words to describe my persona, someone said "Blue Collar", which shocked me. I didn't know I was working class. Really, who cares? We were at Second City, Chicago not Second City, Dickensian England for God's sake. Still, I had no clue who or what I was. It was the beginning of the dawn of truth about me and my life. I thought we were rich because no one in my family said "ain't". I thought my mom was just holding my money till she could be sure I wasn't going back on Heroin.
There have been no dime-bags in sixteen years but there ain't been no dimes either.
It is funny to me now that I was so shocked at being poor but not concerned with being an instigator of and attracted to domestic abuse.
And as I write this I remember that we teased this boy first, disrupting his basketball game by riding our bikes through it and calling him stupid. I started the ball rolling but my friend's brother didn't get that information. The boy just grabbed the back of my bike seat. I just wasn't prepared to get caught.
I see it now though. And I'm not anymore; attracted to domestic abuse. And I don't anymore; instigate domestic abuse. Because I got help.
Besides, my friend's brother might have been abusive but he put his hate to good use at least once. That counts. I suppose.
I owe that boy an apology. Him and a few others.
The instructor had us write a monologue and perform it for our classmates. I wrote a story about being 10 years old, and my friend and I were playing on the playground near her house and this boy started chasing us until he caught me on my bike and wouldn't let me go. My friend ran to her house and got her older brother who was about fifteen. He came storming down the street and hit this kid in the chest with his basketball.
The story sounds like a typical chivalrous rescuer fantasy of a pre-teen girl. Except that my friend's brother used to beat on my friend- who was also a 10-year old girl. And the boy menacing us was about 10 too. But at least he was male.
I thought of my friend's brother was a fucking psycho-path. Until he rescued me, and then I had a crush on him, ignoring that he was indiscriminate with his violence. And I would keep those blinders on in regards to the men I loved, or at least lived with from then till I sobered up in 1996.
There I was in the bosom of comedy and I picked some nugget from the Wally Lamb pocket of my brain to write about. (I'm a big Wally Lamb fan).
But I did the monologue and when the teacher asked for some words to describe my persona, someone said "Blue Collar", which shocked me. I didn't know I was working class. Really, who cares? We were at Second City, Chicago not Second City, Dickensian England for God's sake. Still, I had no clue who or what I was. It was the beginning of the dawn of truth about me and my life. I thought we were rich because no one in my family said "ain't". I thought my mom was just holding my money till she could be sure I wasn't going back on Heroin.
There have been no dime-bags in sixteen years but there ain't been no dimes either.
It is funny to me now that I was so shocked at being poor but not concerned with being an instigator of and attracted to domestic abuse.
And as I write this I remember that we teased this boy first, disrupting his basketball game by riding our bikes through it and calling him stupid. I started the ball rolling but my friend's brother didn't get that information. The boy just grabbed the back of my bike seat. I just wasn't prepared to get caught.
I see it now though. And I'm not anymore; attracted to domestic abuse. And I don't anymore; instigate domestic abuse. Because I got help.
Besides, my friend's brother might have been abusive but he put his hate to good use at least once. That counts. I suppose.
I owe that boy an apology. Him and a few others.
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