After we had been married a lot of years, maybe 20 or so, I asked my husband what first attracted him to me.
He said, “I saw you walking down the sidewalk and you had writing on your jeans. I thought, I have to meet that girl who writes on her jeans.”
We were in college, it was 1971, girls did not write on their jeans. In fact, girls had just started wearing jeans in public, at least the girls in my world. I had a boring night class and wrote on the knee of my jeans to stay awake. Of course, the ink didn’t all come out in the wash.
I think I was intrigued with him because he was a bit of a rebel too. He was going to school to be an Agricultural teacher, but he wasn’t a cowboy. His hair was on the long side, and he had several shirts with the sleeves cut out. His music was eclectic, a little bit country, a little bit rock and roll, and a little Motown.
There we were, two rebels hooking up in a straight-laced traditional world. We got married. He graduated college and got a job. We hid most of our wildness in an attempt to appear as if we were proper, responsible adults. He sometimes allowed his wild child to come out and play. I didn’t, I was afraid I’d never get her back under cover.
After he retired we talked about doing some out-of-the ordinary activities, but then he got sick. Which was definitely out-of-the-ordinary.
Once the fog began to life after his death, I let my wild child out by coloring my hair purple. I haven’t gotten her back in her box yet.
We continue to explore the unexpected. I’ve tried different colors for my hair. I even met a celebrity and had my picture taken with him when my hair was green.
No one color sticks, I keep coming back to the natural blonde/grey. My little cousin styled my hair for me, and we took a picture of the styling process.
A friend and I bought crowns, to reward ourselves with when we accomplish a goal. Sometimes we even wear them.
Not all of the wildness is outrageous, or visible to others. I wear mis-matched socks, on purpose. Sometimes I eat dessert first. When friends and I meet for our weekly lunch, I look for something different to order rather than the same thing every time.
I even have pictures of myself taken, or my wild child takes them. Then she shares them with others. Did you see the picture of me with my hair in my face?
My wild child appreciates that I look for ways to let her free. It doesn’t matter if my friends frown, because we didn’t do the expected, or my kids roll their eyes. What is important is that I live and enjoy life.
This is post 3 for the Ultimate Blog Challenge.
Do you ever give your wild child free reign?
What would you like to do but don’t because it’s not what an adult does?
What would happen if you did something out of the ordinary?
How can you embrace your inner rebel, wild child?
Let me know what you think in the comments.