February 25, 1994

So he finally made a move.

AND NOW I AM GROUNDED.

GROUNDED?!

    I think Uncle Mac must have studied parenting techniques on Friday night sitcoms. The ones with the adorable families who learn warm, so-cute-you-could-throw-up lessons about life and love in a half hour? Of course theses shows are on Friday because no self-respecting kid over twelve would be home that night, and the sponsors think they can con millions of middle-aged people into believing they understand their children.
    Did Uncle Mac think it was cute to ground me? He is not an intrinsically mean person. Okay, I did something that I suppose from an adult-person-in-charge's point of view look pretty bad. But why can't he see it in the context with the rest of my behavior--my entire life? Does this cancel out all the effort I've made for as long as I can remember to be responsible and make them proud of me? Maybe I got tired of making them proud. And who are "they" anyway? Mac & Felicia? My mother & father?
    There is a point where if you work your butt off to do remarkable things year after year, nobody finds them remarkable anymore. They are expected--no, required. You are stuck on a treadmill of excellence, and suddenly you look up and see the world waving all the things you've missed at you. The world, of course, being Mike Cates.

    Here, for posterity, are the facts of my heinous behavior: Last night, February 24: Felicia was upstairs putting Maxie to bed. Mac was at the Outback. I was in the middle of all my homework when the doorbell rang.
    I went to answer the door, but first I peaked out the side window, and almost stopped breathing, then felt like an idiot.
    I opened the door, and Michael Cates is standing there, so nonchalantly you'd think it was usual, and he smiles this outrageous smile he has and just say's "hey." Great opening. To which I brilliantly respond "hi," and then just stand there like a dweeb staring at him
    He finally explains he was just hanging and saw our light, though what is strange about having a light on at nine o'clock in the evening I don't know. "Homework" I say stupidly. "Drag," he says, then asks if he can come in "or what." This makes me very tense, wondering what the "or what" is, but I let him in.
    He stares at my assembled homework stuff like it is material from another planet, and we get into an immediate discussion about why good grades are or aren't worth the trouble.
    He has this " why bother" attitude, which I suppose comes from years of being tossed around and nobody caring. It's not that he's dumb-you can tell he's smart by the way he argues- but he questions a whole lot of things I take for granted, like "the work ethic."
    We are in the middle of a philosophical debate, and I am trying unsuccessfully to be unaware of his eyes, and he is, I'm afraid, aware of my effort, when Uncle Mac walks in and immediately goes all suspicious. I am totally mortified. (It is interesting how much time I've spent in that condition since I've known Mike Cates.)
    I introduce them, which is hardly necessary since Uncle Mac spent so much time looking for him at Jagger's request last year, and when I look at Michael I see that a humongous chip has been hefted onto his gorgeous shoulders. There is a somewhat negative exchange in which Mike blows off the idea of school and Uncle Mac blows off the idea of him, and all but tosses him out of the house.
    I can barely talk, I am so furious and humiliated, and when I gasp out, "That's the most horrible thing you've ever done to me," uncle Mac makes this huge pronouncement: "He's not for you." Like that, Zeus or somebody has spoken. Then I get the "I am responsible for you" lecture I've gotten every time in the last two and a half years that I've wanted to do something he didn't want me to do (and I always wound up not doing it.)
    I point out he doesn't even know Mike, but he is on Automatic, now into I-care-about-what-happens-to-you-Robin mode. Though, obviously, he doesn't care what I think or feel. He wants to "air this out" now, but I know that just means more pronouncements, so I leave and go to my room with my books.
    Five minuets later there is a little tapping sound on my window--a little haphazard tapping sound. I think it is a squirrel or a branch, or something, but it keeps up, and I go and look out and it is Mike. He has climbed onto the roof. I am still hideously embarrassed, and I apologize for Mac's rotten treatment of him, but he only seems to think it's funny and asks if I have plans for the evening. I do not consider the question long.
    I grab my coat and climb out the window onto the roof and down it to him. Mike is impressed by my agility, says I must've been doing this for years. No, I say, I've been waiting for years. And I go off with him feeling freer and bolder than I have in my whole life.
    The upshot is because I am overly enthusiastic in the pool hall--I believe my words were, "I'm ready to kick some but"--we get noticed and not just carded, but the manager takes one look at me and calls home. The rest is history. I apologize to Uncle Mac, but he isn't having any. I point out that his behavior was less than brilliant, too, but he doesn't take it well.
    I go upstairs, grounded, but thinking about the feeling of Mike's arms around me, teaching me how to hold a cue.

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Special thanks to Barbara (Callista01) for typing up this entry of Robin’s Diary.

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