An Ode to Jennifer

I'm starting this post at 7:11 am. I've washed my unrelaxed hair, detangled the resulting nappy mass, and then sectioned and double-strand twisted it--start time, 5:00. My hair is currently "setting" until 9:00, at which time I'll untwist the twists to "hopefully" see a semi-curly mini fro (with my hair, I never know what to expect; I can spend so much time on it and still manage to leave home looking as though a comb hasn't touched my hair in days).

While I twisted my hair, I watched some videos on YouTube, one in particular I watched a few times. The star of the video is a young guy in Dallas with a colorful fashion sense and apparently quite the local club celebrity because of his interesting "jigging" dance style. Smiling and rocking in my chair along with the music, hands oily from the product in my hair, I realized why I was so drawn to this guy—you see, he's the type of guy that teenage Jennifer fantasized about being with—her total opposite. In high school, I was ridiculously unpopular. In fact, I'm certain I gave other unpopular kids a sense of relief that at least they weren't as low on the totem pole as me. Too bad though because I was and still am quite cool and fun; but in the absence of name brand clothing and accessories, a cute black girl hairstyle, and attention-grabbing "please like me" behavior, I was all but invisible.

Popular guys didn't know me from a tree, but I idolized them anyway, everything about them. I wrote stories using their likeness as the main characters, could barely concentrate in class if one sat near me, would wish that I could talk on the phone with them. I wanted him, the cute guy who wore all the latest fashions and had what people now refer to as "swagger," the one who danced in the talent shows and disrupted the teacher with clownish antics, the guy who walked around without a booksack because he was cool like that. The guy who all the girls wanted. That's what teenage Jennifer desired most. As I've matured, thankfully so have my tastes, but I still remember who I used to be. What I used to want to experience. Isn't it amazing how you don't forget? I remember my motivations as a child, why I did some of the things I did, why I acted out.

I remember how I used to imagine what it was like to have a boyfriend. What I imagined a kiss felt like. You get the picture. I just wanted to pay homage this morning to all the phases I've had to pass through to get to where I am today. Things aren't perfect, I'm still learning a lot about myself, perhaps even too much. I'm happy that I'm continuously evolving, but I'd be lying to say I don't miss the carefree days. I remember telling my mother how I couldn't wait to start paying bills and to get an apartment and car. Only a child, I swear.

Anyway, as I wrap this up to tend to my morning hunger, I want to thank life for sending me little reminders that I'm still inhabited by that curious 5-year old, that shy 12-year old, that adventurous 19-year-old—and that the things current Jennifer has learned couldn't be possible without the notes they left behind. Past phases, I love you all. Special shout-out to 13.

40-year old Jennifer, I still don't know how I feel about you—but when you take over, please keep the tradition and remember to give an ode to Jennifer, especially the one who wrote this post.

Good day to all.