We vandalized the school on my 17th birthday. It was a special gift from three of my girlfriends. As night fell, we piled into Glenda’s grey Volvo and crept out to the suburbs. During the drive we cranked up the speakers, singing loudly to hits from Prince and Cyndi Lauper. Listening to rock music was forbidden at our small religious school, and this was a night of pure rebellion. We were even wearing blue jeans. Actually, it wasn’t my school we were going to vandalize. It was their school. I had been kicked out several weeks before, when a locker search revealed that I hadn’t given up my love of rock music. A cassette tape of Prince’s Purple Rain was found inside my backpack and I was called into the pastor’s office. He rebuked me for the music and for the makeup. Like many girls my age, I had been experimenting with blue eyeshadow. The pastor complained that I looked like a painted Jezebel. It seemed we girls were always guilty of something or another. According to the school’s austere philosophy, women were to blame for mankind’s fall from grace. This was why we weren’t allowed to wear pants or makeup; it led boys into wild fits of temptation. These fits would wreak considerable mayhem across the planet, which was already in a state of peril because of Eve. Being responsible for the fall of mankind was quite a load to carry. Some of the girls grew weary while others waxed defiant. I was one of the defiant ones. Between the rock music, the makeup and my patronage of the cinema (I’d gone to see Back to the Future), the pastor felt my behavior was downright blasphemous. I was expelled. I was also warned that if I did not get on the straight and narrow, my life would blow up in a fire-and-brimstone kind of way. In retribution, I thought defacing the school property seemed appropriate. It was pitch dark by the time we got to our little Baptist school. Glenda cut the headlights and we rolled across the parking lot. One of the girls in the back squealed that somebody was watching. We sunk down in our seats, hearts thumping wildly and our stomachs spinning at the threat of being caught. At last, we determined the coast was clear. We climbed out of the Volvo and readied ourselves to do the deed. We were armed with the essential weapons for vandalism wrought by a group of teenaged Baptist girls: shaving cream and toilet paper. Glenda and I got to work winding rolls of toilet paper through the outer door handles and staircase railings, while the other girls ran around with cans of Barbasol. We worked fast, trying not to make too much noise, but getting the giggles every time we thought of something outrageously clever. We wrote filthy words on the windows with shaving cream. We tried to draw nasty pictures too, but none of us were talented in the arts. In the end, we used all twelve rolls of Charmin, plus four cans of Barbasol.
We stood back, inspecting our work with a mixture of panic and feral giddiness. We knew that what we’d done was wrong. At the same time, we had been living under such tight constraints that even something as silly as toilet-papering the school felt liberating. One of the girls asked me what I thought. “It’s awesome,” I announced. “Totally. The best gift a girl could get!” The girls quietly sang Happy Birthday to me before we climbed back into Glenda’s Volvo and hit the road. The night was calm and clear. We rolled down our windows, chattering away and laughing nervously over our little act of sedition. We vowed never to implicate one another in the crime. Next, we decided to commit yet another sin: We went out dancing! It’s been more than 20 years since that night. I don’t know what has become of my rebellious comrades, but as for me I have continued breaking the rules. You might say that being unconventional has become a way of life for me. I was always told that a woman’s place was in the home, so I left home and went to college. Being warned about the evils of this world only sparked my curiosity about its wonder. I’ve studied forbidden literature in superbly decadent places like France, danced at jazz festivals in Copenhagen and taught English in Prague. When they told me to be afraid of Muslims, I hopped a plane bound for Turkey. I ate lamb kebabs in Istanbul and watched the daily prayers in the Blue Mosque. Along the journey I’ve made atypical career choices, found love in unexpected places, written and published a few alternative pieces. Busting through the constraints of my upbringing has given me opportunities I could never have imagined. It has also taught me that I must follow my authentic path while maintaining respect for the choices of others. I must face my private fears and find the courage to step beyond them. Perhaps the greatest lesson I’ve learned from breaking the rules is that freedom is the finest gift we can give ourselves and each other. I might never have gained this small kernel of wisdom if it weren’t for three very gutsy Baptist girls. I remember us standing arm in arm under the white light of the stars, admiring our handiwork. It wasn’t just that we’d woven the toilet paper in creative patterns, nor was it our witty use of shaving cream. It was that for one night we had taken back our power. We were wearing blue jeans and listening to rock music and dreaming outside the boundaries of our gender. As I recall, even the moon loomed large and wonderful upon the horizon. Anything and everything was possible.
from:skirt.com
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