Roar Like a Jaguar

            “If you could be any animal what would you be?  Why?”  My bishop said. 

           

            Among these circular tables sat a mixture of adolescent hormones with the dreams of youth.  The answers varied.  The shy people’s voices creating a small ripple in the stillness, their words barely heard over the giggles and whispers.  Some of my fellow Priest Quorum members tried to impress the girls, people whom we had never met, with egotistical declarations.

           

            “I’d be a cheetah because I’m fast as lightning.”

           

            “I’d be an eagle because I fly so high.”

           

            “A lion”

           

                        “A turtle”

           

                                    “A horse”

           

            The answers kept coming.  Be cool I thought.  Be honest.  Be yourself.  As my turn came up, everyone turned and looked at me.  “I’d be a Jaguar” I smiled.  “Because I like to stalk my pray.”  Quiet.  A few awkward laughs.  More quiet.  More staring.  Nothing.  And then the next person answered the question, and I hid among spaghetti noodles and red sauce. 

           

            Red like my cheeks. 

           

                        Red like the spots of sauce covering my cheeks. 

           

                                    Red, my favorite color. 

           

                                                Red.

           

                                                            Bed.

           

                                                                        Dead.

           

                                                                                    All from what I said.

            Alone.

           

            I came to the dinner date activity alone, with tangled feelings.  The thoughts of hope twisted with fear, mingled with excitement and dread, weaving in and out of great expectations and ditches of doubt.

           

            I left the dinner date alone.  Alone, not in the physical sense because my brother and dad were with me, but oh so alone.  I enjoy being unique.  I thrive on the feeling of knowing that no one else is like me.  I thrive, and yet, I feel castrated from society because of it.

           

            To be different is bad!  That is what culture teaches us.  Bad! Bad! Bad!  In schools the structured and organized subjects of Mathematics and Science blossom, as the fine arts are discredited and looked down upon.  Not by all, but by culture.  American culture.  Mormon culture.  Utah culture.  Family culture.  BYU culture.  Culture envelops us.  We are suppose to become one with society, and yet be ourselves.  We are supposed to be social and an individual.  We are who we are, and yet culture tells us to be someone else.

           

            I am different.  Am I bad?  I try not to be, and so I hide.  Alone.

           

                        I used to hide.

           

                                    In the closet.

           

                                                Under the table.

           

                                                            Behind the couch.

           

                                                                        Outside.

           

            I would hide and wait.

           

                        Wait for someone to find me.

           

                                    Wait to see if anyone cared enough to look.

           

                                                Wait for hours.

           

                                                            Wait!  Wait! Wait!

           

                                                                        Wait until I heard my name.

           

                                                                                    Sometimes nobody looked.

           

                                                                                                Nobody called.

           

                                                                                                            Nobody came.

           

            Voice!  We all have our own unique voice.  We can tell whom people are by hearing them speak.  We hear what we want to hear.  When I was ten years old, my Aunt would call.

           

            “Hello” I said. And she would talk. And talk. And talk.  I didn’t say anything.  Just sat down the phone and got my mom.  Voice can be deceiving.

           

            We learn to lie with voice.  When we are having a bad day, and someone asks “How are you today?”

           

            We smile and say, “Great!”  We deceive them!  We deceive ourselves.  We hide our voice.  I hide my voice.  All the time.  Everyday.  Hour upon hour.  Because I am afraid. 

            Fear.

           

            I am afraid of offending culture.  I am afraid of being different.  I am afraid of hearing my first grade teacher tell me I am bad for sticking out my tongue. 

           

            I remain alone because I hide my voice.  I remain alone, even when I am with others, because I try to be something I am not.  Be cool comes before Be honest!  Be accepted comes before Be yourself!  The same.  Be the same!  Be like so and so!  Don’t be different!

           

            “What animal would you be?  Why?”

           

                        “A Jaguar” I smile.  “Because!”