Present Imperfect

I Had She-Ra's Castle, Too | May 29, 2003

I'm often plagued by the fear that I am The Average American.

Today, this was brought on by my distraction at the sight of a copy of US magazine on the table during a meeting at work. I kept wishing the meeting was over so that I could page through it and see exactly what Ugg-booted celebrity was spotted getting into his/her mammoth SUV in Santa Monica. What the hell is wrong with me?

Last night I was thinking about my childhood and what a good little consumer I was. The Sears Wish Book. My large collection of My Little Ponies. My desire to own a pair of Jordache jeans. How is it possible that I wanted all this stuff when we didn't have cable and we lived 45 minutes away from the nearest mall? How did it manage to seep in? And when did I give up catching salamanders in the woods in favor of drawing crayon-rendered pictures of puffy eveningwear?

I guess it could have just been winter, but I'm embarrassed of my 10-year-old self. Why wasn't she reading more or playing outside? Ian and I did plenty of exploring when we lived with my great-aunt in a big house next to the forest, but once my mother remarried, we moved into "town" and the furthest we ever went was across the street to the Masonic Lodge to turn doughnuts on our bicycles.

I used to think that growing up in a rural environment stunted a child's ability to learn. I guess that was because I was surrounded by such a large number of slack-jawed, truck-driving, Slim Jim-eating moron losers. I was afraid that if I stayed in Meyersdale, that's what I would become. (Though I still thought Slim Jims were tasty.) Now I realize that it would have been much worse if I grew up in the suburbs...except my high school probably would have been better.

When I visited my mom in March, I told her that I always wished I could go to boarding school. She said if she knew that then, she would have found a way to let me go. Now I am haunted by the ghost of the might-have-been-me, if only I'd spoken up one day at dinner and said "mother, I wish you would send me away to Mercersburg Academy, just like that Alison Kroner's mom did." Instead (I don't remember this, but mom insists that it happened), I made fun of Alison Kroner. Why couldn't my mother see that I was just so painfully jealous of Alison's personalized stationery? WHY?!

But then longing for all that just brings me back to square one where Average Americanism is concerned. I'm aspiring to be richer, more powerful and smarter than I really am without actually doing anything about it. The American Dream is no longer one of hard work and perseverance (if it ever was). It is one of rudderless aspiration. America buys US magazine and thinks: "These rich and famous people sure are great. I wish I was rich and famous. Now where are those Doritos?"