Most kids, particularly the nervy, book-obsessed, girl-shy, Dungeon and Dragons type (who ever would I mean?) wish that something special may happen to them. They wander the halls of high school, books clung closely to their chests, and hope, pray really, that somehow they’re horrible case of acne will disappear, that their Mother will stop dressing them in short blue shorts and lined blue and white tee-shirts, making you look like a pirate, but not any dangerous pirate, but the kind that repeatedly get mistaken in boy-porn ads in the back of crumpled Stag Magazines from the 1970’s. You hope that the bullies will finally leave you alone, that the old phrase ‘just punch ‘em in the nose’ was told to you by your pops (mine did not say that, they, being somewhat peace loving intellectuals, suggested I opt for diplomacy, which is an adolescent version of the French white flag of surrender quickly followed by bloodied noses)
You can’t play sports worth a damn and always have a look of dejection on your face.
Essentially you are a frightened little youth with zero social standing watching the world fly by without you (sort of like being broke in New York, but that comes later). You really wish you had a awesome friend named Stiles who’s got a quip for just about anything and an penchant for spot on tee-shirts.
And, of course, you hope that maybe, maybe, that specially to-die-for lady (she’s probably only 15, but then again, so are you) will finally take notice of you (Facebook wasn't invented yet, neither was Internet Stalking). This dashing young lass, in eighties feathered hair and always present cheerleader uniform, wanders the halls by you. You push out your chest, trying to act strong, hoping she notices, but instead wrinkles her nose like she smells fresh shit.
You know you just may be cursed to an invisible existence for good. Until you see the cinematic achievement called “Teen Wolf” starring Michael J. Fox. Never in my life have I wished I could suffer from lycanthropy more than after watching this film. I wanted to threaten old men into giving me a keg of beer, ride on top of Stiles weirdly similar but non-militant version of the A-Team van, and open beer cans with my teeth.
Unfortunately, the sad truth is that it is all a lie that my little 14 year old self within can never quite give up on. The closest I come to “wolfing out” is on that 7 shot of whiskey and my only ‘feral’ skills is an uncanny nature to walk back unconscious to my door step in Williamsburg like a lost dog who always finds his way home.
Thanks Michael J. Fox. Just one more broken fantasy of youth.
Stay tuned for the next installment of “Who Ruined My Life??? (part 3)
Did girls really look like this in high school? I don’t think so.