Jack's Insecurities Antiquties

Ever since I was a little kid, I always thought that the older you
got the more secure you're supposed to be with yourself. Boy,
I was so full of myself then. I thought I'd be like an oracle that
gained a plethora of knowledge when I turned 18. Yeah right,
the only things I got when I turned 18 was a party and a hangover
the next day. (A sugar hangover not alcoholic. My parents were
at that party. Really? You think they were that cool. I don't think so.)

My family unit focused on two things: innocence and denial. Both
seemed to go hand-in-hand through out my life. My mother refused
to accept I was an adult and bought me childish gifts every year
for holidays and birthdays. Picture getting a bathtub rubber ducky
and a toy car on your 14th birthday. Yeah, I know. My reaction when
I opened the box was forced excitement to mask my embarassment.
My father, on the other hand, dragged me to his favorite hangout
spots with his guy friends. He always treated me as if I was the son
he never had. I would've rather gone to the mall with my friends
instead of hunting quail or deer. The smell of buckshot still makes
me gag to this day.

My name is even rather masculine as well. "Jack" is what my family
called me despite my birthname being Jacqueline. Even though
I resent being molded into a toyboy, there were advantages I received
from it. I knew how to hotwire a car in record time and could fix a car
like a pro. I could beat all of the local boys at drag racing. I was very
popular in high school with all the guys, but I was despised by the
girls due to my lack of feminity.

The cruelty of those mean girls still rendered me scared stiff of
wearing a dress in public. I was so self conscious I stopped wearing
dresses completely. The rumors always swirled that I was a lesbian
because I trusted guys more than girls, which was stupid. I was groomed
to act like a guy since I was a baby. What do people expect from me when
I've always been treated like one of the guys? Wear a dress to appease
the masses? Paint my face to look like a clown when I'd rather be covered
in motor oil? I don't think so. It's much too late to change my ways now. I'm
a leopard with permanent marker spots. Get used to it, people. This Jack
isn't going anywhere.

I'm a natural born tomboy that loved riding dirt bikes with her brothers and
drag racing her friends. What I'm not used to was being a girlfriend. I've
kissed guys before as dares, but I never cared about one of them. My
experience and confidence don't exist in the dating arena, which terrified
me to pieces. My earthquake nerves faded away with the help of medication
and a male kindred spirit. He made dirt biking an adventure and kissing an
artform. This dream world intended to end as soon as I woke up. Don't want
it to, but I should happy to get what I can out of this fantasy. Hopefully, a
reality but I'd rather make lemonade out of lemons instead of whine. Whining
is for little girls who don't know better.