Skeletons in Our Closets

When I was a little boy we periodically visited our cousins in Long Island.

I had no older brothers or sisters so I was on my own to determine what was “in” and how to be cool from the media or by observing other kids in school. I would like to say I was better at this vetting process than I was but unfortunately I was rather confused by it.  My two older cousins were the best reference point I had as to what was lacking in my public persona. What is more, they lived in Long Island where everyone was cool.

My oldest cousin was a sultry, smart, aloof young lady who stayed mostly in her room with the door shut or would be “out with friends” during our visits. The first time I was granted access to her room was momentous on many levels. Her walls were coated with posters and images, yellow paint poking out here and there.

What struck me most was the enormous skull on her closet door. I forgot my manners and stood staring at its dark eyes until my jaws hurt.

“You like the Dead?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” How do I remain cool and not blurt out a million questions about satanic worship and whether she was part of a satanic cult.

“I’m really into the Dead. You should check them out.” The nail was in the coffin, so to speak. She must be into some dark things that a little boy would do well to avoid.

I was soberly aware that my cousin knew things and thought about things that were entirely out of my field of understanding.

Her younger brother was several years older than me and seemed much more tapped in to what was in and out. For starters there was the enormous color rug of Farrah Fawcett at the foot of his bed. I was certain this would not fly in my own room, but was even less sure if I would have even wanted it there. I would sit on his bed and watch him crunch barbells in front of his mirror, always shirtless.

His brazen masculinity awed me.

My cousins were both living in a world that felt very different from my own and they only lived in Long Island. It was one of the first aha! experiences I had in my young life when I realized that there were circles of thoughts and experiences that were outside of my own. While there were moments of overwhelm that tempted me with the urge to decide that they were too different for me, I learned a great deal from my cousins. I learned a great deal about differences. I learned a lot about myself because they were different from me. Or was I the one who was different?

I believe we become conscious in early childhood about the way we feel when we encounter difference. Does it frighten, intimidate, or aggravate me? Do I feel insecure? Curious? Ah, curiosity, yes…

How we make our personal judgments on things based on the limited experiences and knowledge we have at a given moment in time and space in many ways determines the world we share. As a small child with no positive connotations for skeletons (yet) I was convinced that the skull on my cousin’s closet was a bad thing; a scary, dark thing. I mean, it was a skeleton!

And yet, down the road, with more life experience and insight, things change. At least they can change if we allow ourselves to be open to new information and insights about the world.