Even a Goddess Can Sometimes Forget Who He Is
I was supposed to be a sad, fat, closeted bumpkin. I decided to be something more fabulous
In my eighth year, my attentions turned to Greek mythology. This is hardly unusual for children of that age, which is somewhat strange when you consider how much of Greek myth centers on rape, sexual kidnappings, and adulterous rendezvous between princesses and gods in the form of farm animals. Somehow our culture has decided that Greek myths are cool for third-graders, but safe and reliable birth control is too much for a 16-year-old to learn about. That said, I am not here to challenge America’s educational morality. I’m here to write a humorous personal essay.
I grew up in a town where absolutely nothing happened. It’s a farm town in California, but not the good part of California. It was a place devoid of importance — political, economic, or philosophical — and any story that happened there centered on alcoholism and/or domestic violence. No one went to college, no one started a business, no one traveled anywhere but Disneyland or a lake. I grew up in a place with no dreams.
As a little kid in a little town where very little happened, Greek myths made me feel connected to the important stuff. There were kings, sorceresses, and human embodiments of abstract…
