i was raised by lies and rock and roll: the story of my childhood

as a girl, my mom told me i was adopted, that i was the child of an alligator family. that she had heard about me and went to the Alligator Swamp to go pick me up. i asked her why she chose me and she said, "i liked you the best." she explained the process to me time and time again. i always imagined a line of cradles -- all of them full of baby alligators -- except mine. i was wrapped tightly in a yellow blanket and smiling. she liked me the best.

i believed this for the longest time, even though i had heard about my real birth as well. i just figured i had two. my dad would tell me about how i was the biggest baby in the hospital -- the longest. i was born off base in an Okinawan hospital and my mom said she could hear the nurses whispering in the halls, "she's a movie star, no?" i always felt proud that i was not only japanese but an alligator as well.
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i was about four when dad shared his music collection with me. he had a big blue gym bag full of cassettes, and a square white box with an aqua swirl on the front for his records. on roadtrips, we would listen to his mix tapes. my favorite tape was always Queen's News of the World, where i knew all the words to "we will rock you."

he used to hold me in his lap as he would place the record on the player, slowly placing the needle on the groove. i remember looking at the vinyl jacket -- a life size iron with one eye, one arm, one leg, half a mouth and one ear. i kept examining it even though it scared me. i traced the outlines of the creature hoping to make friends with it. i remember the feeling of the bass. the boom boom boom of the opening of that song, "Iron Man" by black sabbath.

Has he lost his mind?
Can he see or is he blind?
Can he walk at all,
Or if he moves will he fall?
Is he alive or dead?
Has he thoughts within his head?
We'll just pass him there
why should we even care?

as soon as it would start, i would run out of my father's lap and behind the skirt of my mother. "MOM! he's doing it again. make him turn it off." i could hear him laugh in the backgroud.
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"Mom, when can we go to the Wood Animal's Milkshake Factory?" i would ask this anytime we were in the car. she had told me about this whimsical place many times. they always seemed to be closed when i asked or we were too busy running errands. i imagined a woody forest, pine trees every other step, and right there in the middle was a lemonade stand-ish shack, where beavers and woodchucks sold milkshakes. i couldn't wait to go visit, but apparantly the wood animals made up their own hours not according to our schedule.
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i remember my first fisher price tape player. it had a built in microphone so you could record yourself and spy on your parents. my dad would mock interview us. i remember him slurring my sister and my name together. dianasarahus. we sounded like dinosaur. i remember giggling for hours and replaying that part over and over in my room.

once i got my real sony boombox, i used to tape songs off the radio. making mix tapes for myself of songs i liked. i hadn't started buying music yet, with my dad's collection and all my mix tapes, i never needed to. i started an audio diary, which listening to it recently seems ridiculous. i complained about boys and taco bell and generally everything. it was like a bad livejournal entry.
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when i was five, i dropped my lucky stick in the pacific ocean. i saw it get farther and farther away and i cried for my stick. it didn't deserve to be all wet and lost. my mom told me, "the birds are your friends, they'll bring it back to you." i'm still waiting for the birds to bring me my stick. i'm hoping one day they will.
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my dad made a big effort to be interested in me. he did this through music. when i became the biggest pumpkinhead one could ever be in high school, he was right there telling me if billy corgan was on tv or if he saw an article on them in the paper. he would ask me about bands he'd heard of and i'd ask him about black sabbath or bauhaus. we'd listen to oldies and he would tell me which hard rock albums he owned on record.

my dad used to own a motorcycle. he biked from tennessee to california with my uncle jim. i think that's the coolest thing he's ever done. i've always been a lot more like my dad. we share our bond there in music, but it doesn't get much more complex than that. i'm glad i have it though.
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we still believe in santa claus, because if i didn't i wouldn't get presents on christmas. that's just how my mom is. she lives in her own thoughts and fantasy world. people know us around our small texas town, because we are a super duo and we look-a-like. we make jokes about nazis, not because we actually believe they are good people but because it's funny -- to us. we have this "behind closed doors" relationship that i think a lot of people would be ashamed or even shocked by.

a boy in my elementary school once said, "is your mom deaf? she never talks." i'm the only one that knows my mom is not quiet, and that her purse has bubble gum stuck to the bottom of it.

my mom told me that she likes to get closer to her enemies. she is probably the most manipulative person i know. she can get her way like no one else i've seen before. i hope to aspire to her greatness. her advice to me, "use your feminine wiles."

p.s. i'm still waiting for my wood pulp surprise milkshake -- their specialty. i'm pretty sure the surprise is not vegetarian friendly.

 
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