I’ve been wanting to blog about Lady Gaga for some time now. My husband adores her. She speaks to his European soul. I’m not so convinced. The first time I heard Just Dance, I thought the song rocked, or whatever kids say now. And then I heard the lyrics. My first thought was, “not my daughter!”
I’m not so middle-aged that I can’t remember, vividly, what I did as a young adult in my late teens and early twenties. The “Just Dance” experience of being so blitzed that I didn’t know the name of the club, let alone where I’d left my friends, was the least of it. It’s not a period in my life that I’m proud of. Mostly I’m just glad I survived it. I’m not prepared as a parent to watch my children go through similar experiences. I’m terrified about what could happen to them, especially my daughter – which makes no sense since boys are just as vulnerable as girls. It can keep me awake at night. What if they get drunk? What about rufies and drugs? In my day everyone worried about AIDS, but now – it’s like a free for all! Kids not only think they’re invincible, so is everyone else, and it’s just not true. We’re delicate and easily damaged. I’m starting to hyperventilate.
My family recently went through a bout of the flu, and while I was up at 3:00 in the morning listening to my baby’s laboured breathing and coughing, checking out his fever, I started to worry. Did we have H1N1? What were the signs? Should I pack everyone up and head to the hospital in the middle of the night? Should I get the kids vaccinated? What happens if I get it? I have significant allergies that prevent me from getting the flu vaccine. I mentioned this late one night or early one morning to my husband who quickly lost his patience. “You always think you’re going to die when you get sick. Would you please stop it?! It’s the flu. It sucks, but it is what it is. If it was fun they’d call it a party.” I did not receive this editorial comment well.
After a cooling off period, as I was doing the dishes with my mp3 player on, to drown out the sounds of sick children and my opinionated partner, it occurred to me that he was right. Again. *sigh*. This fear of the flu inspired me to purchase more than $65 worth of over the counter medication for the family. It drove me to the clinic twice (which is where I probably got the flu in the first place). I can recite by heart the danger signs of H1N1 for adults and children. I have the sites bookmarked on my blackberry. Yes, 35,000 people in North America die of flu related illnesses each year, but the vast majority have underlying medical conditions or are elderly or otherwise medically compromised. Wait, do my allergies count? Am I compromised? What if...?
That’s the key. What if? I refuse to go to psychics or spiritual advisors because I don’t want to know what happens next. I really am enjoying this life, my family, the choices that I’ve made which have led me to this moment. But I keep anticipating disaster. I used to think that fear kept me alert, but it doesn’t. It distracts from the moment, from what is real, and the anticipation of disaster becomes the goal itself – my own rufie blacking out my common sense and knowledge of what’s important, serious and life-threatening.
Lady Gaga sings that “we may be plastic but we still have fun.” She’s wiser than her age. Enough of the culture of fear – fear of the flu, of the neighbour, of the sound of sirens, of the latest news, of growing up. It’s time to embrace the plastic, and kick the rest to the curb. Let go and just dance. Lady Gaga 1, culture of fear 0.
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