Long Live the Punk Rachel E. Bledsoe

“Quit being a punk.”

These words are often spoken after my toddler has thrown a tantrum or he’s charging full throttle to bite my legs. Pretty much whenever he decides to rage against the parental machine, which is at least three times a day. That’s a good day. The little boy is fist pumping as hard as he can into the terrible twos and threes.

Every time I say the words, “Quit being a punk,” I laugh on the inside. Because I hope my son always stays punk. I hope he will embody the meaning and rage against the real machines. I hope he will stand up for what he believes in and will never follow the grade school sheep down into the pasture. I hope when he’s confronted by some smart ass bullies, I’ve raised him well enough to give them the finger and tell them to ‘F-off.’

I hope when he sees another boy or girl just like him, a punk, that he’ll extend a hand of friendship. And when the sheep gather around his friends, like the true wolves they can be at times, it is my hope that he will enter the circle and defend his brethren.

The word ‘punk’ isn’t an awful thing to be. It’s only a different way to live. To my son, understand one thing; we are humans. We are inherently different. Each person is designed through certain DNA strands, making them unique individuals. Don’t forget this. Be unique. Embrace the quirks that others will laugh at.

Here’s a mommy fact for you; I snort when I laugh. If you make me snort, then you’ve said something pretty damn funny. Snorting makes me different. I used to be embarrassed by this little fact. I would try to hold back my laughter in order to not snort. Now, my snorts make me laugh harder. Who doesn’t love a good hardy belly laugh accompanied by a snort? I do! And they’re a component to the person I am; the person I’ve always been.

Snorting may not be punk. But, I stand alone in a room full of people. I am laughing, snorting and being different. And I no longer care. That’s punk. Don’t care to be like the rest. It’s a hard damn job trying to fit in all the time.

By trying to be like others, you end up losing yourself. You lose the punk. You lose the specific spunk which makes you unlike everyone else.

When I first had my baby, my husband and I would take him to the pediatrician. There, they would strip the little baby naked. Every time I felt like they were inspecting the most precious possession I owned. They were sizing my child up against charts to ensure his normal range. They would tell us what percentages he ranked in.

We’re ranked from birth. I hated this process. I still hate this process. I understand the need to ensure proper growth and development. It doesn’t make me loathe doctor visits any less. My child was a preemie. He is small. He may always be small. He may decide one day to like the food we give him and then he will grow.

Today, he is small. Today, he dances to NOFX. Today, he rages against his parents and he pushes the limit to every boundary. Today, he drags a chair around the house and he climbs higher than the day before. Today, he is a punk. I hope he stays punk forever.

Rachel E. Bledsoe-Rachel is an Appalachian mayhem loving Misfit Mama who works at a local newspaper during the day. At night, she stays up late and writes her blog, The Misfits of a Mountain Mama. She enjoys long walks on the beach, puppies, Marie Antoinette biographies, and babies (only the one she birthed.) She is the Mama to the Terrific Toddler who is rambunctious, rowdy, and can bite other kids within a blink of an eye. Be sure to follow all the antics and chaos by visiting The Misfits of a Mountain Mama’s Facebook page or join her on Twitter @MisfitMtMama.