*Clears throat, taps mic* What we gon’ do right here is go back… WAAAAY back… back into time…
I was listening to an interview on the Bill Simmons Podcast a while back that made me think about something (which by the way, if you do listen to podcasts, his is THE BEST. Seriously, go check it out). Jonah HIll was on to promote his movie Mid 90s (haven’t seen it, but heard great things) and he started talking about this book he’s writing that interviews celebrities and asks them to describe the “snapshot of their life”.
Imagine you could take a picture of a moment in time that best describes who you are at your core. Your essence, if you will. It could be from any time in your life, at any age. What does that picture say about you then and what does it say about you now? Will it change or will you always be that person deep down?
He talked about his own snapshot and got candid about his own insecurities. We all were introduced him when he was the “funny fat guy’ and that’s kind of been everyone’s snapshot of him, unfortunately. When he loses weight, everyone is quick to point it out or question whether or not he can be funny if he’s not fat, which is an incredibly dumb question to ask. Like, say a guy with cancer is killing it on the comedy scene and his cancer just goes away; is he no longer funny because we’re looking at the snapshot of him with cancer and use that to define him?
I can relate to that in a way. Given my appearance, it’s easy for me to be defined by that. Crouzon’s is not something I’ve ever had any control over, especially when walking into a room filled with people who don’t know me. I’ve jokingly referred to myself as “The Kid with the Face” or “Mr. Funny Face”. It’s low hanging fruit, I get it. Just like the “funny fat friend” stereotype or the “old sassy black lady” or “flamboyantly gay hairdresser” or the “dumb redneck” or whatever, I don’t know. I’m gonna stop making up stereotypes before this gets out of hand. It’s not who I am… and that’s kind of the point of this.
I’m not just the kid with the face; I’m a lot more than that. Despite my devilishly charming demeanor, I can be a little shy at times. I can be a little nervous and anxious when talking about my feelings, which is why I write. But I also like to tell jokes and I don’t take myself that seriously at times, which has actually kind of been a problem in certain situations. I’m stubborn yet open-minded. I am willing to forgive but I never forget. I’m an introverted extrovert, in that I like to be out and about with people but most of the time I just wanna sit at the bar and live vicariously through everyone else.
To put it simply, I’m a walking contradiction. We all are. They say a picture has a thousand words, and your snapshot is no different. There are thousands of little things hiding in plain sight that you may not have noticed. You just gotta look at it with a different lens… and that’s exactly what we’re gonna do, with my snapshot as the example.
(A Shea Freeman lens, because — and this is a true story — a guy once told me that I “could probably see the whole world with eyes like that”. It’s honestly the most eloquent put down I’ve ever heard and I wasn’t even mad. If everyone could insult me like that from now on, that would be great.)
To break down my snap shot, I thought of a few recurring themes in my life. Because this blog is called This Is Why I Can’t Have Nice Things, we’re going to start with that. You could pull a Crouzon’s snap from there. You could pull a snap of me acting up in school. You could use my mugshot if you want, that’s a snapshot. You could put whatever you want that’s negative there, but I don’t think my snapshot is negative. After all, a good picture isn’t in the negative, it’s what comes from the negative after it changes.
I am, for what it’s worth, a pretty happy and cheerful guy. I find ways to make everything enjoyable and I laugh at everything I see because I’m a crazy person. I’m pretty positive and upbeat and I don’t try to let things get to me too often. Hell, even as a kid, my mom would say I was the happiest baby. I looked like a Muppet Baby. Like a Baby Kermit, but as a baby human. With a lumpy head and big eyes, like Tommy Pickles. But I was happy. So we’re gonna start there, back to the days of my childhood.
My happiest days were probably also the most important ones, I’d say from ages ten to fifteen. The formative years. Looking back on it, those were the last days that I was truly innocent. It was also the time where I was changing constantly. Whether it was puberty or it was the surgeries, I began to take shape as a person then. At least that’s what I think.
When I say take shape, I mean that both literally and figuratively. Figuratively speaking, I made mistakes and learned from the majority of them. Literally speaking, they actually cut my head open and moved my skull around. My face has definitely taken some interesting shapes, and that’s when a lot of it really took place. But as I said earlier, I’m more than just a pretty face. And my pretty face came second to one thing back then: getting buckets.
Those were the years I was really active in basketball. It was the in the fourth grade when I first played at Bayshore, in the spring league. I remember trying out for the middle school team and missed the cut, but I asked to be the water boy for the varsity team. Then the next year I hit my growth spurt and made the team. I would wear basketball shorts under my school uniform because you never knew when you were gonna have to lace up and get some run.
Basketball was my life back then, and I honestly thought I was going to be an NBA player. Like, that was the goal. Me. In the NBA. I was so adamant about it. There was no back up plan. I was going to be 6’5 (HA!) and transform into a solid 3-and-D type wing player. It’s hilarious to think about now because I’m 5’9 (5’10 on a good day, which is never) and I have bad knees, one that I hurt falling off a sidewalk when I was sixteen. I also would have been in the same draft class as Steph Curry, Blake Griffin and James Harden. Or Anthony Davis. Young Shea was super confident, you guys. I miss him.
Sadly, the basketball thing is not really my snapshot, even though it’s probably the one thing I love more than anything that’s not my family or my dog. It’s one of five things that have ever made me cry, which is the dumbest thing I’ve said all day (I’m gonna top it, just wait). When I stopped playing, I was fortunate enough to have a girlfriend to keep myself occupied. It was an easy transition, you know? Which brings me to my next point: The girls.
Oh man… the girls… So. Many. Girls.
Now, how is a girl my snap shot? It’s not. But I’ve always said my biggest weakness is a pretty girl. Seriously, a pretty girl will be the death of me. For example, say the zombie apocalypse happens and I manage to survive for a little while. I’m walking around, checking out the wreckage or whatever, and a beautiful zombie woman is headed my way. Part of me — and you know which part I mean (my heart guys, grow up) — would be like wait, maybe there’s a chance. But there is no chance, because she doesn’t want my heart, she wants my brains (to eat them, I’m not obviously not that smart if I’m trying to holler at a dead person.) And that’s how I will die.
This is a major recurring theme for me. Ever since I can remember, I have been a romantic at heart. In fact, rom coms are my favorite guilty pleasure. I got into it at a young age, too. The earliest I can remember was at Hyde Park Day School in Tampa. I was maybe five or six at the time. There was this girl there — let’s call her Abby — and she was my first “girlfriend”. We “dated” for an entire week and I was in love. I gave her a picture of me as a gift, because nothing says “future narcissist” like a five year old giving out a headshot, but hey… I didn’t choose this life; it chose me.
My mom warned me not to get too ahead of myself, but what does she know? She’s been married three times, I said (just now, not back then). Sure enough, mama was right. After four of days of love, the girl said that she wanted to break up. Little Shea was devastated. It was the first time he had had his heartbroken, although it wouldn’t last very long. Because Little Shea was going to have a crush on every girl he could lay his eyes on from here on. He became a love junkie.
You see, another recurring theme in my life is probably that I don’t really learn from my past mistakes. Little things I do, like forget my rights and lefts (you’d be surprised how frequently this happens), or big things like forget to pay my cable bill because I don’t have it on AutoPay. I’m also a huge procrastinator. I’m the guy that arrives late at his college graduation because he was in the bathroom and left his phone on the toilet. I’m not a dumb person, I just do dumb things sometimes. And then there are times I don’t do anything about something, knowing full well I should. This is going to be factored in to my snapshot.
As I said before, I’m a romantic. A hopeless romantic, because all I have is hope and not much else. I crushed on so many girls growing up, especially in that 10-15 year range. I was constantly trying to figure out how they worked, like mentally. I’m still trying to figure it out and I don’t think I ever will. But oh buddy, did I try… from the “do you like me” note slips in elementary school, to the awkward face to face interactions I had in middle school (you know who you are, and this is all your fault! JK LOL, you’re the best)…. I stepped up to the plate and even though most of the time I struck out, at least I tried. It wasn’t always like that though.
We used to go to United Skates of America back when we were kids. Summer camp, birthdays, school functions… I’d find myself there maybe a half dozen times a year, and each time it was the same. They’d do the limbo, the red light/green light game, the hokey pokey, all of that. And they had that ridiculous dinosaur mascot that would come out, named Skate-O — you know, of the Skate-O-Saurus family — and all of these bad ass little kids would just pound on this poor person (mad respect for Skate-O, wherever he or she may be). Then it would turn into laser skate or couples skate, and they’d always play the same song for couples skate. It was either O-Town or that “I never had a dream come true” song.
(Side note: I would wear jeans while I skated during the summer, like long jeans, and it would be so hot. You see, I hated knee pads and elbow pads. I looked like a crash test dummy. You can’t look cool and look safe at the same time, at least that’s what my young self thought, so I would just wear long sleeved clothing in case I fell down, thinking that would soften the blow. It didn’t. This is why I can’t have nice things.)
You’re probably like, damn Shea, how do you remember all of this? Well folks, this is my snapshot. This, I believe, is the moment that defines who I am at my core.
When I was in the fifth grade, I had big crush on this girl — we’ll call her Juliet. Juliet was the prettiest girl in our class and I’d go as far as saying that if I could have a snapshot of the prettiest girl I ever knew, it would probably be her. I wasn’t the only guy that felt that way, though. We’re all like 11 or 12 at this point, so girls are becoming a real thing for everyone now. Naturally, I was always trying to figure out a way to put myself at the top of her list.
Finding a way to stick out is really easy when you have the young face of an old Steve Buscemi, but I had a little mini-snapshot of me at the time: I was the class clown. I would crack jokes or do some crazy shit to impress the girls. I listened to the boy bands because that’s what they listened to. I one time did this cheerleading thing at my school because I could be around the girls. I did a lot of research and it didn’t always pay off, but I was friends with all the girls. I was “in”, as they say (do they say that?).
(Side note: it’s kinda funny to think about it now because, like, what was I gonna do at 12 years old? The most is maybe a kiss and hand holding. I’m actually glad I had my first kiss when I did because I was definitely not ready in 5th grade.)
At the end of every school year, the whole school would go to United Skates for an end of the year party. It was the last chance to see some friends before summer vacation, and for me it was a last chance to see people before my surgeries. I always looked forward to it. I think we all did, really. Because there was one thing waiting for us at the end of the day: the couples skate.
The couples skate, for those that aren’t aware, is the single most important 3-4 minutes of your young life. Two kids, at the beginning of their most important years, holding hands and gliding down the glossy wooden rink, feeling invincible as time seemingly stops forever. Hearts beating fast, palms sweating, butterflies flying around in your stomach each time you make a turn. That moment when you realize you “like-like” someone. A chance to spend a moment with your crush…
I wouldn’t know about all of that though because, unfortunately, I never participated in the couple’s skate.
I thought about the end of the year skating party all throughout fifth grade. That was gonna be the day that I asked Juliet to be my girlfriend (HA!). After all, we were going into middle school. Gotta start sixth grade out with a cute girl, right? You know, along with the other essential items like a backpack, school supplies and a box of tissues. I thought this was solid logic.
As the months went by, there were other guys that came into the mix. We’ll call this one guy Dude and another one Bro. They’re good dudes and bros, I’m not gonna lie. But they were also in the mix, and they also wanted to skate with Juliet.
When the day finally came, I was ready. I had practiced all night the night before on how I was going to approach it. I knew exactly when they were going to play the song, because they usually ease into it towards the end of the day. Plus it was always at 2:30. So that was easy. I made sure to keep an eye on her all day, but not be overly pushy with my presence. Just kinda casually skate on by, like what’s up? How’s it going? Smooth as Shea butter.
Except I’m not that smooth, you guys. By 2:00, I had noticed that Dude and Bro were with Juliet and another girl — we’ll call her Pam. Pam was a backup, honestly, even though a 12 year old shouldn’t have a back up. (While we’re at it, grown-ups shouldn’t have back ups either.) It kinda looked like they were going to couple skate. Rather than skate on over and try to throw myself into the discussion, I sat by the wall and watched as 2:30 rolled around.
It’s time for the couples skate, and I’m standing by myself on the other side of the rink, watching as Dude and Juliet skate with each other. I had felt so many different things in that moment. I felt happy and sad in a matter of seconds. Love and pain. But the worst feeling was not doing anything about it when I had the chance. That 12 year old boy with the red shirt and black rollerblades, watching “the girl of his dreams” with someone else while O-Town plays in the background. That’s my snapshot.
I know that sounds depressing, but it says a lot about who I am. Because it’s not just about who I was back then, but how it translates to my life right now. After Juliet, I moved on pretty quick. There were many other girls that came and went since that couples skate. I told myself I was at least going to give myself a chance the next time around. Like the old saying goes, you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take. So shoot it.
Lately, I haven’t taken that advice. Over the years, I’ve made some mistakes and I’ve gambled on some choices in life. I’m not saying my life is going downhill. It’s not. If anything, I’m stuck on the hill in a car that won’t start, and that’s on me. Because I procrastinate, I hesitate and I hold out in hope that one day it’ll miraculously change. It doesn’t work like that, though.
There are actions and reactions, and there are consequences. Everything you do is like a little piece of the puzzle in the grand scheme of things. And there are things I’d like to take back, for sure. Things I’d do differently.
I would have done high school differently, specifically how I left high school. I would’ve gone to college sooner. I would’ve wrote more or filmed more, and maybe I wouldn’t have needed college. I would’ve not gotten behind the wheel of that car after a few drinks. I wouldn’t have given some “job recruiter” my social security number (because that was a terrible idea). And I would’ve asked Juliet to skate with me.
You can’t go back, though. You can only learn from your mistakes and move forward. So here we are… did I learn from my mistakes? Not really. Because right now, more than ever, I can relate to that 12 year old kid in the skating rink. Opportunities that I never took because I was too afraid to do it, of what would happen if I did. Afraid of the rejection, and the hurt it would bring. I’m a guy that wants to be loved, that wants to be included. I’m a hopeless romantic.
I’m not ashamed of that. That little boy is who I am, and knowing that makes me feel better about myself. I know who I am. I’m still a kid at heart. I’m still a class clown. I’m still the lovesick puppy that’s waiting to find a home to call his own. Hell, I even look like Droopy Dog, just with a better voice. I’m still compassionate and at times sensitive. I have a lot of love to give and even though I don’t say it a lot, I am happy with my life. (I still wear jeans, too. I will always wear jeans.)
I’m all of these things, and I’m fine with that. Because at the end of the day, I am who I am and I’m not changing that any time soon. That picture will last forever, framed and hanging on the walls of my heart.
Until Next Time…
SF
“If music be the food of love, play on,
Give me excess of it; that surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.”
― William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night
This Is Why I Can’t Have Nice Things 