Who else is pumped for The Dark Knight Rises?
I honest-to-God NEVER expected a reaction like that. Never. I mean, I thought I’d get some nice comments and stuff, but what has transpired over the past few days is beyond any and all of my wildest assumptions. I can’t even begin to express my thoughts other than “WHOA” in the manner of Keanu Reeves.
In short? These last two days have been insane. I don’t know how I feel about it, to be quite honest. On one hand, I’m quite thrilled and honored and very, very grateful. I’ve heard so many wonderful stories from so many fantastic people. If I could, I’d hug all of you.
On the other, slightly bigger hand…I’m scared to death. I don’t really like all of the attention, if I am to be quite honest. I’m inherently very shy. I have Anxiety Disorder and am prone to debilitating panic attacks. My mom has diagnosed me as “Socially Awkward” which is accurate. A friend of mine texted me today saying “You’re world famous!” Which, unlike the Kardashians, made me want to run to my room and lock the door yelling “NO NO NO NO NO.”
I didn’t write that post to be famous. I didnt’ write it to cash in. And I certainly didn’t write it to get into the LA Times, although that was really awesome. I wrote it because I was pissed off at a certain journalist for trying to make Coach Summitt’s retirement about something else to get blog hits. (He has yet to comment on my blog post. I’m not very surprised at this.) I always really hesitate to do something public for fear people will think I’m just doing it because I’m Geno’s daughter and it’s a famewhoring manuever. It probably stems from when I was in 7th grade and a girl walked up to me in class and said the only reason I got on the school basketball team was because of my last name, and the guys in my grade saw me trick or treating that Halloween and yelled “WHORE” until I ran home to look that word up in the dictionary and declared “That is SO false” to my apoplectic mom.
I tend to keep my head underwater, not making waves. And I accidentally caused a hurricane. Oops?
Maybe that’s why my sojourn into New York City three years ago didn’t work out in my favor. Fame changes people. It makes them jaded, and ugly, and selfish. I just want to say something that will hopefully change the people I talk to for the better. I grew up trying to be something bigger than what I was and trying to hide what I really am…a GIGANTIC dweeb that does a lot of yoga and probably should do laundry more often. All I want to do is write, and write well, and to be a person of value to the world I inhabit.
I never had any anti-anything drilled into my head as a child or young adult. I didn’t grow up in a ‘you must hate this person’ environment, or in an entitled environment. I never had an allowance. I never had money thrown at me. I pay all of my own bills myself. I get embarrassed when my Mom offers to pay for my gas.The highlight of my childhood was getting that mermaid doll that sang underwater when I was ten – I nearly drowned playing with that thing. I was encouraged to formulate my own opinions, but above all else, I was taught to be a good person. I try to surround myself with people who, yes, challenge me, but also are just good people, because I grew up with good people. If someone goes from being a good person to a bad one, they don’t last long.
All I really need in my life to be really really happy, aside from my writing and my work, is my family, my friends, and my boyfriend. And sweatpants. And cookie dough ice cream.
But as my Dad has said a few times, you are a product of your parents. My Mom gave me a big hug and said she loved me. But the number one BEST response I got from my piece came from my Dad. I hadn’t heard from him because he was hanging out with his BFF Obama on Monday night, which obviously takes precedent over my little dog and pony show over here. I wasn’t even sure if he’d read the article yet, but I wasn’t going to text him the link and say “I WROTE SOMETHING AWESOME AND YOU SHOULD TOTES READ IT LOVE YA KTHNXBAI”. Like I said, I’m not a Kardashian. And I’d disown Dad if he got a Bruce Jenner facelift.
I was on my way back from work yesterday afternoon when I got a notification on my phone that Dad had sent me a tweet. My friends and boyfriend love that my Dad’s on Twitter. I simultaneously love and loathe it.
It read, “I am so proud of what you do. Even more so for who you are.”
I immediately broke down in tears. Right there on Route 2 West, in Yantic, whilet. Because that’s all that needs to be said.
All I have ever, ever wanted in my entire life is for that guy to be proud of me.
So everything else is just supplementary. I don’t need anything else to be happy. I’ve got it pretty darn good.
PS. I’ll be blogging about all of the stupid things I blogged about pre-insanity. Don’t you worry. There will be nerdery and musings that have nothing to do with sports.
PPS. The pictures Yahoo! News chose to represent Coach Summitt and my father in their story about my blog are, to put it bluntly, hilariously bad. The LA times picked a rather lovely photo of Coach Summitt accepting her ESPY, which I quite preferred. The other photos, though? OOOF. My Dad looks like Mark Ruffalo mid-Hulk transformation. (If you haven’t seen The Avengers…look at your life. Look at your choices.)