I think- and I could ask my mother, just not today-I was diagnosed as "weird", by the rest of the family at about age nine. There were a few concerned teachers before then, but I'm gonna guesstimate nine as the year of my uncloseting: I am an artist.
At thirty-six, much of the chiding has subsided save for the occasional, "well you've always been...like that". And Joe, my Favorite Guy, his family is still holding out for him to get a real job, y'know one with a pension. But, on days like today, I'm grateful that we are weird, misunderstood, unstoppable creative forces sans pensions.
Jordan, Puberty Man as he is commonly referred to here at The Honey House has been "diagnosed" as well. I remember falling prey to playground politics when he was about 6 or 7 and wanted to be a school custodian. I nearly died! What?! You mean you don't want to be the president? A lawyer? A doctor? Who was I fooling, I didn't want to be any of those things either. In fact, I only chose something because I had to. Truth is, I felt quite content being who I was already; I didn't need a career-I had a calling and, it was art.
So, in the spirit of acceptance, we shifted gears way back then. Make no mistake we shifted gears with as much ease as one loses weight or gives birth-it was an arduous undertaking. We encouraged Jordan to pave his own road; wouldn't you know, it led right back where it began: art.
Jordan is a talented lyricist with an- and I say this as one of his toughest critics, uncanny mastery of metaphoric prose. Rap music is not my personal genre of choice, so I rely heavily on artistic content in deciding if I'm going to lend my ear to a project. The kid has certainly earned my ear-not without the occasional pearl clutching and grimace, I mean artist or not, I'm still his mom.