My boyfriend is a Beatles fan. Not just a Beatles fan, but a Beatles nut. On our first date, he asked me who my favourite Beattle was.
“Ringo,” I easily replied in between sipping my iced chocolate frappuccino. We had met up at my favourite sushi restaurant and were now sitting outside on a bright summer day, drinking coffee (or at least he was) at the Starbucks across the street. I was surprised he hadn’t run away yet since I admit I looked a little strange. I was a two hundred eighty-six pound girl with very long slightly red, slightly blonde wavy hair trying my very best to look like a character from Mad Men. A very dear friend was throwing a birthday party in a few hours and I didn’t have time to go home and change.
“Ringo? What in the world do you see in Ringo?” I remember the expression on his face. It was a mixture of impressed, curiosity and utter dumbfounded.
“I love Ringo because Ringo is nobody‘s favourite. Don’t get me wrong, John is probably my next favourite but that’s probably because my school’s anthem was Imagine.” I think Chris almost spit out his coffee from laughter.
“You’re highschool song was Imagine?!”
“Yup, what can I say,” I nonchalantly shrug, tilt my head and smile. “I went to a freak school. It was awesome.”
As both of our laughter subsided, even though I didn’t know much about the Beatles at the time, and actually I still don’t, I could tell I made a lifetime friend. A fellow freak I guess you could say. A freak can always spot another freak. It doesn’t take special clothes, crazy hair or adorned body art to join the club. I think like the word fat, people take the word freak offensively. It’s just another forbidden F word to add to the list. Say it loud, say it proud! I am a freak! Okay, you probably didn’t just say it now as I didn’t while typing it. But I digress. I explained briefly on Things Mother Taught Me, about the fifth important thing was letting your freak flag fly!
I think that by growing up fat, a self-defense mechanism was giving an illusion of not giving a damn what people thought about me. Which is why I always stood up against drugs, smoking and drinking when my middle school friends were experimenting and I stuck my nose into a book. I was giving the illusion that I was raising my freak flag and that I didn’t care. Of course that’s only half-true. Of course I care… to an extent. Because who doesn’t want to be liked? Who wants to be thought negatively by anyone? That’s why when you watch most of Hollywood’s “behind the scene’s” you only hear “we’re one big happy family.” And maybe they are. Who knows, I’m not there to judge their actions. The only person I can account for is myself and the relationships I cultivate. But I do believe because of my background, I am more laid back about my “freakyness”. My “freakness” has become a shell of armor.
My freak seems to also have developed a radar. Like Willy Wonka’s egg dectector, I can smell a rotton egg. But I can spot the good ones too. I can usually tell when your lying to me but I rarely call people out on it. It’s usually not worth the effort. I think apart of being a freak is accepting other freak’s flaws and short comings. Because we realize we’re not perfect either and we know expecting that from others is hypocritical. I love each freak for who they are. I love Chris’s rants about how Abby Road is technically the Beatle’s last album and not Let It Be. Because Let It Be was released after the band broke up but Abby Road was the last album the band recorded together in the studio. Even though he knows I have absolutely no imput in the matter except that love the triva knowledge.(See Chris, I DO pay attention… sometimes) And he accpets (most of the time) when I will randomly bite him.
I love the way my friends in their own way, are freaks too. Like a friend who will belt out I believe in miracles, you sexy thang, on stage in public during karaoke. I love how I know four people who hate mayo as much as a vampire hates holy water. I love how I know someone who actually owns a shake weight (and has yet to let me play with it!), I love how I know two people who have seen every episode of Star Wars and Star Trek. I love the way Chris yells Buttscratcher! I love the excitement a coworker gets over a videogame that has yet to be released. I could go on forever, but I think you get my point. Without these people, life would be very boring indeed. So what exactly is wrong with being a freak anyway?