The Kid Who Didn't Need to Become Somebody Else
Or: Society Wanted a Finished Product. I Just Wanted the Little Bastard to Keep His Spine.
By Jerry “The Ankle-Biter” Silverhand
A Jerry's Marginalia — by Department of Petty Affairs
Society has a peculiar habit of looking at young people and immediately deciding what's wrong with them.
Too fat.
Too skinny.
Too quiet.
Too loud.
Too nerdy.
Not attractive enough.
Not dating enough.
Not popular enough.
Not ambitious enough.
And if, by some miracle, a young person manages to satisfy every requirement, society will simply invent another one.
Congratulations!
You've completed the character creation screen.
Unfortunately, the server administrators have changed the rules.
Please rebuild your entire personality and try again.
Fuck. That.
Some people spend their entire lives trying to become somebody everyone else will approve of.
Others are simply trying to figure out who they want to be.
And sometimes, those two things are at war.
Enter the Apprentice.
Recently, I found myself talking with a younger fellow.
We'll call him Pip.
Pip was learning fansubbing.
For the uninitiated, fansubbing is the ancient art of voluntarily spending your free time translating, timing, editing, typesetting, and occasionally screaming at Japanese cartoons.
It is a wonderful hobby.
It is also a terrible hobby.
You will spend three hours adjusting a subtitle by two pixels, only for somebody on the internet to announce that your font choice has personally offended their ancestors.
You will spend an entire evening trying to understand a sentence that apparently makes perfect sense in Japanese but turns into an international incident when introduced to English.
You will finish a project.
Someone will complain.
You will wonder why you bothered.
And then, because you are apparently mentally unwell, you will start another project.
Welcome aboard.
Pip was enthusiastic about learning the craft.
He had projects he wanted to work on.
Things he wanted to understand.
Things he wanted to make.
And he was proud that, while plenty of people his age spent hours scrolling through endless videos, he was doing something creative.
Now, I don't particularly care whether somebody enjoys scrolling through videos.
Your free time is your business.
But I do appreciate somebody who has found something that interests them enough to actually make something.
Especially when that something is as obscure and frequently thankless as fansubbing.
The kid had enthusiasm.
Good.
That's where most worthwhile things begin.
Then We Somehow Started Talking About Girls.
Because no conversation between two internet idiots is allowed to remain on topic for longer than seventeen seconds.
Pip mentioned that he wasn't interested in anyone romantically.
He'd liked somebody before.
It hadn't worked out.
He'd moved on.
Fair enough.
Romance isn't a mandatory subscription service.
You don't have to maintain an active girlfriend account to prove you're functioning correctly.
So I asked him something more important.
Did he like himself?
He said he had some love for himself.
Not a grand declaration.
Not some inspirational speech about being an unstoppable king.
Just a little self-respect.
And you know what?
That's a perfectly respectable starting point.
You don't need to wake up every morning, stare into a mirror, and announce that you're God's greatest contribution to the human race.
Sometimes it's enough to say:
I'm working on myself. I like some things about who I am. There are other things I'm figuring out.
That's being human.
Unfortunately, being human comes with other humans.
And that's where the trouble begins.
The Department of Unsolicited Opinions.
Pip mentioned that people made jokes about his appearance.
He was a bigger fellow.
And apparently, certain people had decided that this made his body an excellent source of recurring entertainment.
Now, I enjoy a good insult.
I enjoy sarcasm.
I enjoy absurdity.
I once threatened to turn somebody's spine into a weapon for fighting Dracula.
We'll get to that.
But there's a difference between friendly teasing and repeatedly making somebody uncomfortable after they've asked you to stop.
Pip explained that he'd tell people to knock it off.
They would.
For approximately an hour.
Then they'd start again.
Oh, wonderful.
The Traveling Circus of Unwashed Assholes has returned for another performance.
At that point, I offered some spiritual guidance.
I suggested that these individuals kneel before a cactus.
Not just any cactus.
A blessed cactus.
A cactus of judgment.
A cactus that had endured the harshest conditions nature could throw at it and still somehow possessed more dignity than these people.
First, they should pray.
Then confess their sins.
Then prepare their tongues.
And finally, they should cleanse their mouths upon the sacred cactus, from root to tip, as penance for their inability to shut the fuck up.
AMEN.
Gerald the Cactus, who had absolutely no involvement in this conversation, was understandably horrified.
He has since requested legal representation.
The Department of Petty Affairs has denied his request.
Consequences Are Not Cruelty.
Here's the thing.
When somebody tells you that your behavior bothers them, you have a choice.
You can listen.
You can apologize.
You can adjust your behavior.
Or you can continue doing the same stupid thing and act surprised when the relationship changes.
Pip had already asked these people to stop.
Repeatedly.
They understood enough to stop temporarily.
They simply didn't respect him enough to keep stopping.
And that's a different problem.
You cannot explain somebody into respecting you if they've already decided your boundaries are optional.
You can keep arguing.
You can keep pleading.
You can keep telling them how much it bothers you.
Or you can stop giving them access to you.
Some people don't learn when you explain the boundary. They learn when they discover the door has closed.
That's not revenge.
That's not punishment.
That's a consequence.
If I repeatedly throw rocks through your window, you are under no obligation to keep inviting me inside because I occasionally bring snacks.
And if somebody repeatedly makes you the punchline after you've told them to stop, you don't have to keep attending their comedy show.
Especially when you're the only one not laughing.
But Then Came the Sentence That Changed Everything.
I told Pip to walk away.
Don't argue.
Don't get dragged into a pissing contest.
Just leave.
And he hesitated.
Because if he walked away from those people, he might have nobody left.
Ah.
There it is.
The real problem.
Not the jokes.
Not the appearance.
Not the lack of a girlfriend.
The fear that demanding respect might cost him the only company he has.
That's a nasty little trap.
People will tolerate astonishing amounts of bullshit if they believe the alternative is being alone.
They'll accept insults.
They'll excuse disrespect.
They'll laugh at jokes that hurt.
They'll convince themselves that maybe they're being too sensitive.
Because at least somebody is talking to them.
At least somebody knows their name.
At least they're included.
But being included in a group that repeatedly makes you miserable isn't the same thing as belonging.
Sometimes you're not a friend.
Sometimes you're just the entertainment.
And there's a hell of a difference.
So I reminded Pip of something.
He'd recently met somebody new.
Some older, louder, considerably more foul-mouthed idiot who shared his interest in obscure anime and subtitle production.
Somebody who barely knew him.
Somebody who was already willing to talk with him, joke around, and work on projects.
That somebody was me.
Now, before anybody gets sentimental, I was not auditioning to become the kid's adoptive internet father.
I was not presenting myself as the Wise Elder of Anime Mountain.
I was not preparing a twelve-step program for rebuilding his self-esteem.
I was pointing out a simple fact.
The people currently surrounding you are not the last people you'll ever meet.
You don't have to preserve every relationship out of fear that another one will never come along.
Sometimes making room for better company requires letting lousy company leave.
And sometimes the consequence of treating somebody like shit is that they stop showing up.
Imagine that.
The Belmont Incident.
Now, about that spine.
At some point during our conversation, I suggested that Pip needed to stand up for himself.
Unfortunately, because I am an absolute menace, I expressed this by threatening to remove his spinal column and use it to banish Dracula.
Yes.
Dracula.
The vampire.
The one who keeps getting his ass handed to him by generations of angry people carrying whips.
I was going to become another Belmont.
Pip objected to the proposed extraction.
Apparently, he considered his spine essential for standing upright.
A reasonable concern.
He suggested that I use a belt instead.
Which, admittedly, was the more practical solution.
And that's the sort of conversation we were having.
One moment, discussing personal boundaries.
The next, debating whether human vertebrae make suitable anti-vampire equipment.
And somehow, underneath all that stupidity, there was an actual point.
You need a spine to stand up for yourself. But you don't need to surrender that spine to everybody who wants you to bend.
Look at that.
A metaphor.
Completely accidental.
Somebody notify the literary establishment.
Two Different Models, Same General Equipment.
Later, Pip showed me a photograph of himself.
He seemed convinced that his appearance explained why romance hadn't worked out for him.
I looked.
And I saw a perfectly ordinary young fellow.
Not a monster.
Not a walking catastrophe.
Not somebody who needed to hide from daylight.
Just a person.
Which is apparently an extremely disappointing answer when somebody has already decided they're ugly.
So I made another joke.
I told him I was basically his older counterpart.
Nerdier.
Brasher.
More mileage.
More profanity.
Probably more questionable life decisions.
THE DELUXE EDITION, NOW WITH ADDITIONAL BACK PAIN.
And that's what I wanted him to understand.
You can spend your entire life staring at yourself through the eyes of people who make fun of you.
Eventually, you'll start believing their opinions are objective measurements.
They're not.
They're opinions.
Sometimes they're cruel opinions.
Sometimes they're stupid opinions.
And sometimes they're coming from people who haven't earned the right to influence how you see yourself.
If you want to change something about your appearance, that's your decision.
If you want to improve your health, excellent.
If you want to date somebody, wonderful.
But you don't owe the world an entirely new body or personality just to qualify for basic human respect.
Meanwhile, the Veteran Fansubber Has Invented a Boomrang.
Before anybody mistakes me for some grand authority on personal development, allow me to present evidence of my own magnificent incompetence.
Years ago, I worked on an obscure anime called Hime-sama Goyoujin.
And one of its ending songs, Candy Pop Sweet Heart, gave me an unforgettable wrestling match with the English language.
I liked the song.
Hell, I liked the ending more than the opening.
But translating certain lines into something understandable?
Jesus Christ.
Some sentences practically translate themselves.
Others need a little adjustment.
And then there are the ones that require you to grab the original meaning, bend the English around it, turn the entire sentence inside out, and pray the result doesn't sound like a malfunctioning refrigerator wrote a love letter.
I had to get wordy.
I had to rearrange things.
I had to make decisions.
And years later, revisiting that work, I described the process as bending the translation into a boomerang.
Except I didn't say boomerang.
I said boomrang.
BOOMRANG.
Ladies and gentlemen, behold the experienced fansubber.
A man who has spent years wrestling with language.
A man who understands that translation involves context, meaning, tone, and interpretation.
A man who cannot spell a fucking boomerang.
And somehow, I think that's important.
Because you don't become good at something by waiting until you're flawless.
You become better by doing the work.
Making mistakes.
Learning.
Revisiting old decisions.
Occasionally laughing at yourself.
And, if you're fortunate, discovering that something you made years ago still matters enough for you to care about improving it.
I don't need Pip to become another version of me.
God forbid.
One of me is already an excessive burden upon civilization.
I want him to develop his own skills.
Make his own mistakes.
Discover his own style.
And one day look back at something he created and think:
Good Lord, what the fuck was I doing?
Then fix it.
Or laugh.
Or both.
That's part of the craft.
Society Wants a Finished Product.
Here's the problem with the way people talk about young people.
Everybody wants to know what they're going to become.
What career?
What relationship?
What income?
What appearance?
What social status?
What accomplishments?
How popular?
How successful?
How respectable?
How normal?
Normal.
There's a word that has committed more crimes against individuality than Gerald the Cactus could ever hope to prosecute.
Pip is already becoming somebody.
He's learning something.
He's working on projects.
He's discovering what he enjoys.
He's figuring out what he will and won't tolerate.
He's finding people he can talk to.
And he's making mistakes along the way.
That's not failure.
That's growing up.
He doesn't need a committee of assholes to approve his personality before he's allowed to enjoy his life.
He doesn't need to become handsome enough for strangers.
He doesn't need to find a girlfriend to validate his existence.
He doesn't need to be popular.
And he certainly doesn't need to abandon a hobby he enjoys because somebody else thinks it's weird.
The person society wants you to become is not automatically the person you owe the world.
Sometimes the person you actually want to become is quieter.
Stranger.
More creative.
Less interested in popularity.
More interested in finishing a project nobody else gives a damn about.
And that's fine.
The Department of Petty Affairs Issues Its Final Ruling.
I don't know what Pip will become.
Maybe he'll finish his fansubbing projects.
Maybe he'll become an excellent translator.
Maybe he'll master karaoke typesetting.
Maybe he'll fall in love.
Maybe he'll make better friends.
Maybe he'll change hobbies.
Maybe he'll decide that spending six hours adjusting subtitles for an obscure anime is a ridiculous use of his limited time on Earth.
He'd be correct.
And then he'll probably do it again anyway.
Because that's how this cursed hobby works.
What matters is that the decision belongs to him.
Not the people making jokes about his appearance.
Not the people who refuse to respect his boundaries.
Not society's imaginary checklist.
And not some older fansubber who occasionally threatens to turn him into vampire-hunting equipment.
I can offer advice.
I can offer encouragement.
I can offer jokes of deeply questionable taste.
I can remind him that people who repeatedly ignore his boundaries don't deserve unlimited chances.
But I can't decide who he should become.
And I shouldn't.
That's his job.
My job, apparently, is to keep Gerald the Cactus from being declared a religious artifact.
We're making limited progress.
So here's the ruling.
Be the person you want to become, not the person everybody else demands you become.
Change because you want to grow.
Learn because something interests you.
Create because you want something to exist.
And when people repeatedly treat your boundaries like suggestions, let them experience the consequences of losing your company.
You don't have to fight everybody.
You don't have to win every argument.
You don't have to convince every asshole that you're worth respecting.
Sometimes you just close the door.
And keep working on your own damn life.
Because the kid doesn't need to become somebody else.
He needs the freedom to become himself.
Now, if you'll excuse me, Dracula has returned.
Gerald, fetch the belt.
We're leaving the kid's spine where it belongs.
And somebody please confiscate my boomrang before I accidentally invent another language.
Jerry “The Ankle-Biter” Silverhand
https://theglitch.bearblog.dev/