The Madonna Phase
I went through a Madonna phase when I was in middle school, if I recall the timeline accurately. I remember mock concerts in Gloria’s drab little backyard, where “Like a Virgin” and “Material Girl” blared obsessively from Gloria’s cheap boom box. Gloria and Michelle were fellow Madonna wannabe’s. Our concerts included pathetic tries at choreography and overly melodramatic lip-syncing; I think I’ve blotted a lot of it out. It wasn’t pretty.
I wore my hair plastered back beneath a wispy piece of lace, hundreds of jelly bracelets lining my forearms, monstrous crosses hanging from my ears, and multiple rosaries encircling my neck. My make-up was heavy eyeliner and bright lipstick. I remember one instance where my mom started World War III by forcing me to remove the unapproved war paint; I was not going to be allowed at school looking like a raccoon. I remember I could’ve buried my head in the ground that day, horrified that I had to go to school without any make-up at all, part of my sentence for the crimes of applying it excessively and without permission.
I think I almost gave my poor mother heart failure at times; she was sure I would come away from this period suffering lasting consequences, at the very least a bald spot or two where the lace band had been practically appliquéd behind my ears. Thankfully, her fears went unrealized.
With all of this Madonna worship, however, I wonder if any of it may have permanently rubbed off on me. Was my mother justified in her some of her fears? Am I indelibly scarred with Madonna's image branded upon my psyche? Am I still her subconscious idol, even today? Am I still fiercely preoccupied with what I wear? Do I care about how little make-up I’m seen wearing outside of the house? Goodness. Maybe this has affected me more than I realize. Frightening prospect.
I wonder if my own girls will pick someone to idolize as they grow older. I’m sure they will have their preferences in music, and though I don’t hope it will include Madonna, I do hope their selections will have greater depth of character, depth of lyrics, meaning, and purpose. I pray their influences will be more upright, that they will be more selective with their peers, at least a little more than I was [not that Gloria or Michelle were particularly wicked. They could just as easily look back on me as the negative influence]. I hope my girls have enough fabric of being to keep their head above ground, even when their mother inadvertently steps foot on enemy soil.
But most of all, I hope my girls do not lose a sense of who they are and Who they belong to in their passion to be like someone else.
I wore my hair plastered back beneath a wispy piece of lace, hundreds of jelly bracelets lining my forearms, monstrous crosses hanging from my ears, and multiple rosaries encircling my neck. My make-up was heavy eyeliner and bright lipstick. I remember one instance where my mom started World War III by forcing me to remove the unapproved war paint; I was not going to be allowed at school looking like a raccoon. I remember I could’ve buried my head in the ground that day, horrified that I had to go to school without any make-up at all, part of my sentence for the crimes of applying it excessively and without permission.
I think I almost gave my poor mother heart failure at times; she was sure I would come away from this period suffering lasting consequences, at the very least a bald spot or two where the lace band had been practically appliquéd behind my ears. Thankfully, her fears went unrealized.
With all of this Madonna worship, however, I wonder if any of it may have permanently rubbed off on me. Was my mother justified in her some of her fears? Am I indelibly scarred with Madonna's image branded upon my psyche? Am I still her subconscious idol, even today? Am I still fiercely preoccupied with what I wear? Do I care about how little make-up I’m seen wearing outside of the house? Goodness. Maybe this has affected me more than I realize. Frightening prospect.
I wonder if my own girls will pick someone to idolize as they grow older. I’m sure they will have their preferences in music, and though I don’t hope it will include Madonna, I do hope their selections will have greater depth of character, depth of lyrics, meaning, and purpose. I pray their influences will be more upright, that they will be more selective with their peers, at least a little more than I was [not that Gloria or Michelle were particularly wicked. They could just as easily look back on me as the negative influence]. I hope my girls have enough fabric of being to keep their head above ground, even when their mother inadvertently steps foot on enemy soil.
But most of all, I hope my girls do not lose a sense of who they are and Who they belong to in their passion to be like someone else.
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