My Kids are Dorks

I guess Facebook makes me get lazy on the blog. I'll try harder, kids, because one day, I'll have this blog saved and printed in books for you. But I don't plan on having my Facebook updates around forever.

So, sometimes, you guys are dorks. You wear Spiderman costumes while you do homework. You like to pretend you are paleontologists; protective goggles and all. You dress up in the worst color combinations imaginable and think that you look superb. Of course, M, you had no choice in the matter. You are forced into wearing diaper covers (only at night) that look strikingly similar to a shower cap; simply because they are cheap.
I'm wondering if dorkiness is genetic, much like red hair and freckly skin. My mom and sisters say I was a dork as a kid: I wore really thick, pink glasses (goggles, my mom calls them now). I always had my face in a book. I used to get 10 books out of the library every week, and I'd have them all read by day three. If I wasn't reading, I was recording myself as I made up my own stories. As you know, I have had a life-long fear that I am mentally impaired, and no one wants to let me in on the truth. (Shut up.)

Yup. I was a dork.

Judging from the outfits your Papa sported in old photos, I'm thinking he wasn't far from being a dork himself.

You kids have little hope. The truth is, though, the sooner you accept your dorkiness, the better off you'll be. If you spend your whole life trying to prove you're not a dork, you'll miss out on a lot of fun.

There was a kid in our school that I was secretly in love with. His name was Jesse Byker. He was a dork. The truth is, he was WAY cooler than any other kid in school. Because he just didn't care. He wore what he wanted. He was interested in dorky things, and he was not apologetic about it. He had fun. He had good friends. He had cool shoes. I think Converse low-tops, if I remember correctly. Except they weren't popular then. (I just stopped blogging to Facebook stalk him. I couldn't find him. I'm kind of all sorts of nostalgic and sad. I wish I could have dated him. I met his wife once, not that long ago. She was kind of crabby. Maybe that's because I told her I'd been secretly in love with her husband for most of our high school careers? I don't know).

Anyway. Embrace yourselves. Love who you are. Don't try to impress anyone. Say yes to what you want and no when you don't feel like it. Some day, when high school isn't your whole life, you'll be glad you wore ugly shoes and that you actually indulged in your love of writing poetry. Some day, someone will love you for your dorkiness. I mean, really. Look at your dad. He's a dork, and I love him! Oh wait. That's because I'm a dork too. Huh.