To be the black-sheep of the family is an honor in my eyes – I am different, the ‘outcast’, the minority. I shall wave my black-sheep flag proudly, and smile at all the cookie-cutter buttholes that look my way. Since I can remember, I was looked at differently in my family. My father and his friends would call me black-sheep, and it just became the norm. No issues, no “WHY GOD, WHY AM I THE WEIRDO?!”, definitely just accepted that I was unique and rocked that
shit. When Sister would listen to her pop music, I’d be painting my nails black and jamming out to Incubus or Metallica. ROCKED. THAT. SHIT. Who wants to be a carbon copy of someone elses version of perfection? Or how the kids say nowadays, who wants to be “on fleek”? I don’t. (btw, for the record, I do not say that. To be 100% honest, I am not friends with people who say that. So don’t. Like, ever.) I am flawed. I am a beautiful mess, y’all. I have a small gap between my two front teeth and used to HATE it, wanting braces so no one would pick on me (Not like Madonna or Amy Winehouse, and definitely not like that girl from the commercial who says, “Get the London look.) But looking back now, and seeing all of my other positive qualities, I say screw it. Its cute.
My flaws make me who I am, and I’m pretty
fucken rad. I always rebelled against any authority figure, though. You tell me to blow my nose, I’d probably pick it and fling it at you like a little turd. As I got older, I got into more trouble – sometimes involving ‘the fuzz’, which was super fun in a really terrifying way.
And when I say that it was “fun”, what I really mean is, “I will never do that again”. Ever. There’s definitely nothing like standing up at the podium waiting for the judge to figure out if he wants to ruin your day by sending you to the clink. There is no escape. For example, this will not happen:
God “I find you guilty, and I sentence you to 60 days in [whatever towns] justice center. No bail.”
You “Wait, what? Actually, sir, that’s not going to work for me. I’m not really feeling that – I think I’ll just say, “no thanks” and get outta here. Thank you so much for the offer, though.”
So instead of getting myself into that kind of situation, I’ll refrain from doing anything illegal – I’ve got children and nobody really likes raising their kids through letters and weekly visitation.
There’s a fine line between good and bad black-sheeping. Yes, I said ‘black-sheeping’. It is a word.
Well, now it’s a word. Cause I said it was.
Anyways, like I said, there’s a fine line – some are good. You may just be introverted while the rest of your family are social Gods, and instead of joining them you sit and play WoW in your basement and lick Cheetos cheese dust off your fingers. Shrug. No, I’m not speaking from personal experience. I swear. *crosses fingers behind back*
Then there’s the bad – like, if you were to be a Satan worshiping sadist while your mother and good ol’ father (who’s a reverend) goes to church every Sunday and you make lists of who to massacre at Sunday school. Yet again, not personal experience. Real talk though.
I’m the black-sheep of my family because I never listened. Always had to learn the hard way, no matter what the consequences… Lately I’ve learned to take a little bit of advice, even if it kills me swallowing it down. I’m a stubborn
asshat who needs a good reality check every now and then – thank God for families, because I keep them on their toes, and they keep me on mine.
Black-sheep’s unite, tell me your story.