Tales of a Teenage Maverick

I'm the one wearing a LARGE, blue [311]  shirt.

If you look up the word 'maverick', you will find: 

1: an unbranded range animal ; especially : a motherless calf2: an independent individual who does not go along with a group or party

 

This post is dedicated to every adolescent, pre-teen, tween, youth, and teenager who might be considered a 'non-conformist, free spirit, rebel, loose cannon, dissident, or an informal cowboy'. Clearly, 'informal cowboy' is the best description one could hope for. 

I remember being interviewed for kindergarten. Ms. Maines, who I would later have as my teacher that year, sat with my father and I and asked me questions about what I like to do, if I like to read, draw, etc. I thought she was so nice and pretty that, as I stood up to leave, I turned to her and said, "I hope you are going to be my teacher!" She smiled a warm smile and said goodbye. For my first day of P.M. Kindergarten, I wore a pale pink dress with white frilly eyelit sleeves, frilly white socks, and black maryjanes. My mom put my hair in a delicate side ponytail with a slight curl to my bangs. I was so excited, (so was my 3 year old sister, Jordan) as most kids are for their first ever day of school. 

But that did not last. I started hating school in 3rd grade, really truly hating it. But just one year before that, in second grade, I began my journey as an informal cowboy. And I remember the day it started; I was V.I.P., not because I was actually a very important person, but because it was my turn alphabetically. My favorite teacher, Mrs. Gillette sat me up in front of the class on an elevated seat so everyone could see me. She asked me questions like, "When and where were you born?" "What is your favorite color, food, music?" Let me tell you really quickly, my favorite food is the same: ice cream, chicken fingers, and french fries, and my favorite music was Mariah Carey. I felt kind of vulnerable and scared up there on that stool, so I gave the teacher bunny ears. The whole class started laughing really hard, including Mrs. Gillette. After that, I couldn't take the rest of the questions seriously, and I just made up jokes. At the end of the week my dad brought in cupcakes and sat in the front of the classroom with me, as the teacher read out loud everything my classmates said about me. And they (almost all of them (how original)) said, "Whitney is funny, she will be a comedian when she grows up." Sorry to disappoint you, Mrs. Gillette's class of '92, I'm not a comedian, I'm a regular Joe hanging out with children during the day, and my dogchild at night. 

After I moved on from Mrs. G's class, I realized that not all teachers thought I was funny and charming. I quickly became the annoying little girl in the back of the class who just wanted attention. And boy was I annoying. Even my friends' mothers were hesitant about letting me come over, especially for sleepovers. It got worse as I grew into a young adult. In 7th grade, Ashley and I got countless detentions for disrespecting our tech teacher, Mr. Patterson. We called him "Mr. Spatterson". We never finished our typing assignments, instead we drew pictures in Paint and typed swear words in large font. One day, sitting in the back of the room far from the teacher, we decided to tear up tiny pieces of paper and flick them at each other. We thought that was too much, so instead, keeping a low profile, we crumbled up the tiny pieces and flicked them over our desks. We did this for the entire length of the class. When the class was over and it was time to put our folders away, a couple of kids walked in front of our seats and stopped, stared, and laughed. They looked at us and told us we were going to be busted. Ashley and I couldn't see the mess we had made because the back of the desks were elevated and each row was one long unit. We stood up to leave and saw that there were hundreds, maybe thousands of tiny balls of paper covering the floor. We grabbed our backpacks and ran. Mr. Spatterson never spoke to us about that, but on several occasions, we had to answer to him for one thing or another. 

There I am, at the tender age of 14 and the roaring height of 5'8". Please spot the tan lines.

By that year I thought I was so cool. Not only was I the loud, crazy kid, but I dressed like the biggest idiot. We all did. And by 'we' I mean my group of friends, also known as, "The Skater Kids". At 14, I wore oversized band t-shirts, Jnco's, and had dyed fuchsia hair. We wrote ANARCHY on everything, including the sidewalks and walls at the park, in coal from the public BBQ's. 

As a Frosh, I was still very sure of myself, but let me please tell you something extremely embarrassing about my little 9th grader mind. This is something that I may have only told one person about, or maybe no one at all. I wanted so badly to have a nickname and further my imaginary popularity. I thought that if I ate Skittles every day for the first month or so of high school, I would then proudly earn the nickname "Skittles". Thank the universe I didn't go through with my plan to snack on Skittles everyday. My dentist would have been pissed. And let me also mention that I had graduated from Jnco's Mammoth pants and started wearing jeans that were 70" around, EACH LEG! 

I despised school so much (or at least I thought I did). But to be perfectly honest, I hated 3rd and 5th grade more than I ever hated high school, but I still ditched as many classes as possible. Btw, my parents never found out when I had missed a class because I gave the school my personal landline number. I would often come home to a full answering machine telling my parents that I had not been in school that day. Anyway, when I was actually in class I was not learning, I was entertaining. I took it upon myself to make the class laugh. But not all the students wanted to laugh, unfortunately. One girl even took a picture of me dancing on the biology counter while a substitute was in the middle of teaching a lesson. She later turned the picture in to the principal's office. I got a referral and an in-school suspension the first time I danced on the biology counter, but not that time. 

I finally started dressing "normal" by my sophomore year, but my misbehavior (or showing off ) didn't improve. I still barked when my math teacher wrote problems on the board, answered my cell phone in class, ran marathons with Cortnie while we were supposed to be teacher's assistants, had walkie talkie's confiscated for using them on campus, and you know, the usual. 

It wasn't until I graduated, started working a shitty telemarketing job, while still living with my parents, that I realized I should have been less of a rebel and more of a formal cowboy. But I haven't fully grown out of wanting attention and feeling the need to make a fool of myself. I often see loud, obnoxious teenagers on the subway doing acrobatics on the hand rails, listening to terrible pop-punk, dancing on the poles, and I just laugh. And when I see these mild creatures at the park, with blue streaked hair, homemade piercings, and Avril Lavigne eyeliner, I always smile at them, while the parents around me give disgusted looks and pull their children closer. But I understand them and love them. I was once just like them and Sarah Palin, a maverick. I know they just want attention, they want to be hip and original. They're not bad kids, they're just freaks.