Are you frowning at me?

I can tell the park that I’ve started walking in is going to be a big deal in terms of what I write. It’s weird how easy it is to have shit pop up that I need to get out here and write about. I was walking it up with my fellow blue hairs, when all the sudden I had a memory of something funny my daughter said. And I had the biggest smile wash over my entire face.

What followed was a feeling akin to my fb post about my last blog…that I have nothing to complain about…that my life is full of smiles. That’s when I’m looking at it correctly. I started questioning why I ever stop seeing the smiles. Why I ever lose focus on all the good in my life. Smiles are everywhere. Great conversations with random people. Shared laughter with strangers. How do I lose sight of all that when my world turns black on a dime?

And the answer brought instant tears. It was a simple image of me as a kid that came to mind. My dad teaching me how to ride a bike in our driveway in Michigan. The image was me falling off. Again. And I looked up at my dad. He stood with his arms crossed, frowning down at me.

And that’s a good representation of the way I’ve always felt about myself. I’m frown-at-able. Not a pick me up. Dust me off. It’s okay buckaroo. We all fall down. Let’s get back on the bike and we’ll get through this together. But, instead this…“you are the biggest pain in my ass. Get the fuck up and figure this out so that I can get back to what I really love, gardening.”

He would have never used those words. But, it doesn’t matter. It’s how he made me feel. Like I was unimportant. Like I was a waste of time. And that shit still runs deep. It’s had a huge impact on my lifelong lack of confidence.

A million people can smile at me and I’ll still feel like a piece of shit at times. Flashback number 2. Just now. My kitchen in my childhood home. Bedtime. I, of course, had on a cowboy hat and was holding a lasso. I, in character, said “good night pardner”.

And it was like my dad insta-teared up and tried to turn it into a meaningful moment. My son called me “pardner”. And here I am, no more than 7 years old, and I had to go into damage control mode, because even at that young age there was no way in fuck that I wanted to be his pardner. I tried to explain that to him in the moment, that I just said it because I was dressed like a cowboy.

What the fuck do you have to do to your kid to make him run the fuck away from a simple word that represented closeness? Frown at him. and that’s still the image I have. Of myself. And of how my dad actually looks at me.

One of the best things I did in terms of fighting to get back my confidence was to stop talking to him. I’ll fight like hell for my sanity out here. And work my shit out with words. And he knows not to say anything to me, but the couple times he did only reinforced that he’s still frowning my way.

What broken hearted little kid wouldn’t love to get a text from his dad on father’s day that says “I’ve been reading your blog. Happy fucking father’s day.” I fight like hell to get smiles from people. Only to still be getting frowns from the guy who did the most to shape how I feel about myself.

And that leads me to those old “this is not your father’s oldsmobile” commercials. Oldsmobile reinvented their brand by going against the reputation that they built cars for old men. And I think one of the things that has helped me gain some semblance of my own identity is going completely against my father’s religion.

Today I just listened to a short interview frank turner did after his lollapalooza set last week and one thing that stood out was him saying “I was furious about the conditions of my education.” That’s it. I was schooled in religion, but was left to fend for myself against an abusive grandma. And left to be the one trying to tell my dad I did not want to participate in a partnership.

What’s cool is frank’s response to the conditions he grew up with mirrors my own. He says, “(there was) a sense of punk being a community and a refuge. A place where you can go and you’re not going to get judged.” He found home with the other fuck ups. Not with the mainstream. His world was punk rock. Mine is the dive bar scene. the fancy education that his parents tried to force on him or the hollow religion forced on me by my parents, didn't do it for us, so we found our own way.

Frank has a great line that stuck out as i was walking just now. he says, “we shall not overcome, we shall underwhelm.” Fuck yes. Are my people world beaters and a listers and overachievers? Fuck no. my people fly under the radar. But, you better fucking believe we’re the ones really living. We can talk about the real shit without having to look good or impress.

We’re the people who got frowned at as kids. or left behind. Or were made to feel worthless. I was talking to a guy at the bar last night who was telling me this awful story of his step-dad putting him in a spot that was truly terrifying. We all have that kind of shit. And we need to get it out, not go through the motions looking like we’re trying to fit in.

It’s like I’ve kind of been seeking this sort of punk rock style real life. No filters. Not that popular. But the people who get it are people you could talk with for hours and never need to come up for air. The healing nature of two broken hearts sharing the real.

I was a church goer for 35+ years. and the number of ahhhh moments I had in my Christian days pales in comparison to all that I’ve had since then with my fellow heartbroken people. I never can figure out how it happens. But, it is so fucking easy to get into conversations with people who are desperate to talk about the real, but have very few options.

I felt really shitty last night. I had met a guy the night before at the bar. He came out to the patio last night and said hey. And I was so stuck in the conversation I was having that I didn’t even realize he was wanting to be invited to sit down. The next time I went inside to get a drink, he was walking out by himself.

And it shouldn’t be like that. He’s a dude putting himself out there. Super nice guy. And it takes a lot to come to the bar by yourself. I did it for years at clarette. And I’m going through that same routine these days at sullys. But, you have to get in your reps to get to know enough people to make it feel like that “church for the fucked up” vibe I had at clarette.

Ha! Quick story. So last night I was wearing my cubs shirt that says “try not to suck”. And a dude came up to me and said “I swallow”. And we had a good laugh and talked for a few minutes. But, it was only when he was very persistent in inviting me to his place after the bar closed that I realized, holy shit…he really does swallow. And I’m totally getting hit on.

I was telling the story to my uber driver, who happened to be a beautiful man. And he had great perspective saying, “it used to offend me, but then I realized it’s a huge compliment that I’m attractive to both men and women.” Now, for my next trick, I’m going to attempt to make myself attractive to women as well. Talk about “we shall underwhelm”.

No, but really that’s the thing. I think sometimes I get lonely. And my eyes search the bar for a lovely female to chat with. But, that shit just happens when it happens. And I can’t be missing out on what might have been a great time with that one dude (the one who left by himself not the swallower). So I need to remind myself why I go to the bar…to hear, tell and collect stories. Not to make soul mates with a girl for one night.

I still feel like the new kid at sullys. I have my moments. But, I fucking went to clarette for years before tim d would yell “matt’s here guys” as soon as I walked in. or for brian to have my tall jack and diet sitting in my favorite spot as soon as he saw my car pull up. It was fucking home. It was punk. It was real. and it give me shit tons of smiles to try to balance out the frown that has always been what I think I deserve.

Last thing…I was listening to frank turners album “tape deck heart” on my walk. And the weirdest thing happened. The song I was listening to just stopped. And all the sudden jack Johnson commentary popped up. The song associated with it had something to do with a tape deck, but it was so random. I tried to rewind, but it just kept going back to the words jack was saying.

So, I gave up and started listening. And he was talking about the first time he saw his kid in the middle of a guitar jam session with his cousin. There was a moment that stood out, where the boys realized how great they were playing. And they both subconsciously raised the posture.

That’s it. A parent encouraging his kid down a path and being a smiling presence just naturally promotes self-confidence. I’ve noticed it with riley on her youtube channel. Her first dozen or so videos were her building herself up to the confidence she has now. And I read something the other day about catching her doing something great and was reminded that she totally gets how my aura towards her is one great big smile.

And same with the boy. I was just talking to him about how cool it was for me to watch his development as a soccer player. He went from barely fitting in with this new team to me asking him “can you think of anybody on the team who is better that you?” and neither of us could come up with anyone. Or at ku basketball camp when he went in so intimated and left as the leading scorer in the game that won his team the camp championship.

So, there it is. As a kid I was left with a grandma who fucked up my world. And frowned at by my dad. So, my reality as an adult is that I have to write my way to good. And struggle all the time. And hurt. And cry. And feel worthless. But, there are those moments. The big smile I had in the park. How it feels to know that I’m giving the kids something good. How it feels to have heart to hearts with people at the bar.

And honestly, because frowns are my default/built-in feeling about who I am, I think I need to get back to documenting all the sweet comments and inboxings and conversations that I have with people who are in this with me…so that I can have a more accurate picture of who I really am. I’m smiled at way more than I think I am. and being conscious of how much the smiles outweigh one pivotal frown, i think, is going to help me get back to the confident me that i found a few years ago with the help of my therapist.

aww man. just knowing i'm trending in the right direction is huge. when i am writing this much, i'm going somewhere. when i'm not writing as frequently, the frown has too much say in my world. and fuck that image. i'm pretty fucking great. i've been teaching myself how to fall off a bike for years. and i keep getting back up. <matt smiles at himself>