The English Paper

Where Do I Belong?

            I have always seemed to have an identity crisis of some sort; never truly fitting in anywhere.  In high school I did not belong to the academic crowd because more often than not I floated by on a low B or C average.  I did not belong to the athletic crowd because I did not enjoy watching or participating in sports.  Friday night football nights where an opportunity for me to go to the other team’s side and check out the cute guys in their acid washed jeans, Van shoes and Polo shirts.  I did not belong to the druggie crowd because I could not afford to partake of that particular recreational habit and besides I was terrified of my father.  I did not fit in the goat-roper crowd, because I only wore my roper’s on special occasions and only owned one pair of red ones.  Those who were considered goat-ropers managed to have several pairs of ropers in a wide range of colors as well as the Rocky Mountain jeans and shirts. Now, as a mother of four teenagers, I have found myself again in the quandary of where I belong. 

            The first group of women are the Soccer-Moms.  These women began with a mini-van and worked their way up to a sporty SUV.  On the back glass are stickers of children’s names and megaphones, soccer balls, footballs, basketballs or the cute stick family stickers where everyone is displayed from father all the way to the family dog.  Their cars are filled with cute

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bags for organization as they whip around the town ferrying children to and from each group sport after school. 

            Soccer-Moms sit on bleachers with their hair carefully styled in the latest fashion all wearing capri pants and matching shirts.  The latest version of these moms has their feet adorned in Toms shoes.  They sit in groups and discuss husbands, mixed drinks and their children’s grades.  The tote bags beside them in the bleachers, proudly display names such as Hannah, Madeline, Ethan and Colby.  They sell candy bars and sit outside of stores all in hopes for raising money for their children’s newest organization involvement. 

            Another type of woman, I am not, is the Crunchy-Mom.  She is an adaptation of the Soccer-Mom, but she is more Earth and environment conscience.   She has her allotted 2.4 children and drives a hybrid car.  The stickers on her car speak of carbon footprints and gay pride.  As she pulls into the whole foods grocery store, she grabs her colorful bag, which easily slips over her neck and shoulder and hangs on one hip.  From the trunk she gathers her reusable shopping totes and heads in with her homeschooled children.

            If you stand too close you may notice a particular smell to Crunchy-Mom, she gave up deodorant because she does not want to the toxins to give her cancer.  Her hair, a bit in disarray, is its own natural colors as she does not want chemicals leeching into her scalp.  Children drink from washed out syrup bottles, as she reuses and repurposes everything possible.  At her home are a small garden and a compost bin.  Her children may be a bit more unruly than most but she wants to teach them love and not hate.  No spankings for these future environmentalists.

           

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The third type of mother is the Redneck-Mom.  Redneck-Mom is easy to notice because many times she heard before seen.  Tattoos on her legs, arms, shoulders, feet and around the ankle are her badge of pride; those and the deer head mounted on the trailer house wall.  She is the woman you think twice before letting your children go over because you are not sure the guns are locked up in the cabinet or on display.  Large trucks and car parts usually sit in front of her home.  And while she is hollering at her husband to stop drinking all her beer, her children, Bubba, Sue-Ellen, Junior and Sadie Mae run through the neighborhood playing cowboys and Indians with plastic weapons. 

            Mostly likely this mother is found shopping at Wal-Mart, pushing a basket while at least two scantily clad, dirty children clamor over and under the basket and hang off the sides.  Her motto is if you cannot buy it Wal-Mart, it is not fit to be had.  On a good day the Redneck-Mom will put on a bra and make up before heading out the door, however, most of the time she can be viewed in her natural habitat wearing pajama bottoms and a tank-top, bra-less of course.

            For myself, I seem to embody all three types of women.  I have tattoos, nine to be exact and yes, I do plan on more.  I live in a trailer due to the housing shortage however I will never be seen in public without a bra. Never.  I drive a VW Beetle which does save gas, but there are no window or bumper stickers.  I also own a SUV but it is for when my family of six goes on the road. I homeschooled my children up until four years ago, and begun again this previous fall with three of them.  I have one who attends public school. I have attended a few sporting events and even wore my school sponsored shirt. My children have been known to solicit for fundraisers.  I keep my nails done and I am choosey about wear I shop, generally choosing a

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better brand named item over Wal-Mart.  I do stop into the whole food stores to pick up vitamins and occasionally something considered healthy.  I have more than my allotted 2.4 children but I have been known to carry in a reusable bag to shop with.  The names of my children seem to be acceptable to each type of mother, Alex, Drake, Lynsie and Jacob.  As much as I would like to label myself a Soccer, Crunchy or Redneck mom, I have to face the truth and realize I am my own type of mother.  Maybe I should be known as the Red-Crunchy Ball Mom?