In some ways it's hard to look back and see the insecure kid I was in my young teens. I still remember borrowing a friend's Officer Negative shirt, and my mom spiking my long curly hair for my first show, so that I could go see The Culprits at EGCC. As a Christian school kid from a conservative family, it took some convincing to be allowed to go.
The "evolution of identity" probably started sooner than that. Maybe when my friend Jeff bought me P.O.D's "Fundamental Elements of Southtown CD." Or when on the way to a youth conference I heard Zao for the first time. "Where Blood and Fire Brings Rest" is one of my favorite cd's to this day, but as a 12 year old, it was a lot to take in. In some ways the first time I heard "A Fall Farewell" seems like yesterday, and in others it could have been lifetimes ago.
"I woke up one morning and he was dead." Something drew me to the raw honesty in this simple statement. Something I still cherish. I can't say the screaming resonated with me as much at that age, but hey, I was 12 and from a small Christian school.
Every Christian kid with access to a Christian book store with a decent music selection probably recalls some worker there with facial piercings thrusting that CD into their grasp. Hell, I still remember when Norma Jean's "Bless the Martyr" came out and I played it till it had holes in it (I still recall the shock of seeing the lead singer kiss one of my male friends when I saw them play at a church a few feet from where I went to school before they got huge).
It's been speculated a lot of young kids end up getting involved in the hardcore scene and straight edge for a longing to belong. In a lot of cases I'm not entirely sure that's true, at least anymore. It was in my case though. I remember going to my first show unsure what to think, but seeing a diverse group excited just to be there. There among them was some kid who hadn't hit much taller than 5 feet tall yet, who never quite felt like he belonged. After that I was hooked. Jeff and I continued to try to write music and start a band until it finally took when we were 16, but thats a different story.
I remember feeling on the inside. Like something big was happening and continually happening. Shows were still advertised in the area heavily by flyers and word of mouth.
I remember the first time I buzz cut my hair and a time when I always wore camo shorts, complete with brass knuckles in the pocket. Being young and up-to-no-good was what I lived for. Times where we could only afford one burger after band practice, so 3 of us would share one. Or skating late at night while starting small parking lot fires. Trying as best we could to make a name for our music, and be recognized. Being enraged by our surroundings, the fakes and wasted youth.
Sometimes people will tell me they've been to "10 concerts" or that they are going to their first one such and such weekend. It makes me feel like a jerk, but I laugh. It's funny to see something you held at the core of your being for so long be experienced for the first time.
It's hard not to feel like I've sold my old self out sitting here. Realistically though, I either got extremely lucky, or the divine hand somehow guided my mis-made steps. Maybe walking away from "the scene" makes me a hypocrite or a traitor. I really can't say, sitting here with my hair grown out to a "professional length" waiting around for my teaching methods class. I am listening to 100 Demons. So maybe that counts for something.
Then again, if the ideal is to "keep it real," maybe trying to make a future for yourself isn't so bad at all.
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