{"id":167,"date":"2021-09-22T17:18:40","date_gmt":"2021-09-22T17:18:40","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/writing.lenahoeck.com\/?p=167"},"modified":"2021-09-22T17:18:41","modified_gmt":"2021-09-22T17:18:41","slug":"what-boys-yell-like","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/writing.lenahoeck.com\/index.php\/2021\/09\/22\/what-boys-yell-like\/","title":{"rendered":"What Boys Yell Like"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

I clearly remember the day I started to care about what others think of me. I was a lanky eight-year-old, fearless and free of concern. During recess, my classmates and I were playing catch. One of the catchers chased me; thanks to my long legs I was fast and challenging to get. But he was faster than I. He reached out, I yelled\u2026 and he got me.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Later my friend commented that I sounded like a boy when I yelled. I was stunned. Like a boy? When I yelled? What does that even mean?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My friend\u2019s comment stayed with me. I listened to other girls, and realised they didn\u2019t yell<\/em>; they screeched. While I yelled loudly and in the timbre of my own voice, everyone else was sporting high-pitched mouse cries. I understood what my friend meant \u2013 my yell was different from their cries.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Different was bad \u2013 my friend\u2019s expression when she enlightened me was clear. The obvious next step was to change my yell to a mouse cry. I practiced when I was alone in my room. It was easy enough, even though it didn\u2019t come naturally. It felt scratchy and I was certain a boy yell would slip out if I was caught unawares. But I could re-train; everything would be fine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

From that day on, it was all mouse cries for me. The next time we were playing catch, I happily screeched along with the other girls, and no one ever commented on my boyish yell again. It was gone, successfully replaced.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Had my retraining stopped at my yell, I doubt I would remember that particular day. Unfortunately, once I got going on changing for the better, I couldn\u2019t stop. My new aim was to become Miss Mainstream: never stand out, only like the things the other kids like, go with the flow. I told people I liked olives, because the boy I had a crush on liked them. I worried about being too fat because the girl I most admired was even skinnier than I was. I bent my knees whenever we took a photo, because I hated how tall I was. I stood with a hunched back to hide my budding breasts.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I remained in this self-eliminating phase for a surprisingly long time, right up until teenage rebellion took hold. And if blotting myself out weren\u2019t so sad, I would actually be proud of my strength and determination during that time. After all, I know how tough it was to look at others and want to be them \u2013 not be like<\/em> them, but actually be<\/em> them.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m turning 30 this year. And I guess it\u2019s one of those things you do when facing a big birthday \u2013 you think about your life, about how young and stupid you were back then, and how wise and all-knowing you are now.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This story is one of the things I have been pondering. How it shaped me as a child, as a teenager, as an adult. It took me a long time to get over the urge to conform. I\u2019m fine with disagreeing with the mainstream \u2013 I hate bacon, I don\u2019t like Taylor Swift songs, and I totally didn\u2019t participate in that weird mullet dress trend from a few years ago.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But sometimes I still hesitate. Especially when it comes to voicing my opinion, and especially if the topic is the latest divisive issue. And even more so when discussing it with a group of friends that I like and want to keep. Better not look like a boyish-yelling idiot. Because, clearly, that didn\u2019t go down well. Maybe I\u2019ll just shut up and preserve my inner stability.\u00a0<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And often I wonder: What would my life be like now if I\u2019d never changed my boyish yell? I wish I had been cool enough to resist \u2013 it would have saved me a lot of trouble. Alas, back then I thought \u2013 no, I knew<\/em> \u2013 that I was the weird one.<\/p>\n<\/body>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"