The Version They Know

Being fully me in front of my true people.

So, it’s Saturday evening and I leave Tuesday night. I know I have plenty of time to pack, but for me, this already feels like I’m cutting it close.

Normally, I’m packed and my suitcase is ready by the door a week in advance. My usual norm is: I find something I like and throw it in the suitcase as a possible outfit or something nice to wear. Then, over a couple of weeks, I go back through it. I start pulling things out: I don’t need this, I don’t need that. I repack. Then something else comes up, I throw it on top. I go through it again, replace things, repack again. Usually, that’s it, and the suitcase sits by the door until it’s time for me to leave.

This time? I haven’t even fucking packed. Clothes are laid out all over the bed. I’m trying things on. Suitcase not even in sight.

Of course, I’ve got music playing in the background, and then Get Your Freak On by Missy Elliott comes on. And it just hits.

I had my headphones on, dancing around, being goofy. My daughter’s home, and I prance around her in a goofy way, laughing. She says I have an evil laugh, so I exaggerate it even more. Now every time I walk by dancing and laughing, she mimics my laugh. We were just having a moment.

But with my son… that’s a different story.

I still do it with him, because there’s comfort there. When you’re treated a certain way growing up, being yourself is only safe when you’re alone. But when you have kids, you’re never really alone. So what are you supposed to do — not be yourself? Of course not.

My son got to see that side of me.

I’m no rapper, but I can get my freak on, and I know all the words. We always join in together. There’s that part where Missy goes, “Hot pff in your face, open your mouth, give you a taste..... holla,” and I exaggerate it every time. He loves it. And he started doing it too.

That’s where that outgoing, goofy, confident side of him came from. I let him be who he needed to be when it was appropriate. And if he was ever behaving like an ass, I’d call him out on it. He could keep being an ass — as long as it was respectful, we were good.

Listening to that song — and others like it — makes me appreciate something I’ve said before: my son truly knows me and accepts me.

My daughter knows me too, just differently. She knows I’m goofy, she knows who I am, but sometimes it feels like she’s competing with me. And I’m like, child… I’m 27 years older than you. A whole quarter century. You get to live — well, I get to live too.

I don’t mind putting a roof over her head. I don’t mind supporting her. But she has to pull her weight. I stay on her about it, but I don’t shame her.

Still, I get frustrated. I buy groceries and immediately she’s dipping into everything she likes. I’ll say, “I just bought those,” and she’ll say, “I only had six.” And I’m like… okay, you had six today, six last night, and you’ll have six later — that’s the whole package.

I’m not being stingy. I’m asking: why don’t you buy groceries?

She once said, “There’s never food in the fridge.” Excuse me? I can walk into the kitchen right now and make a meal. Just because you don’t want to make it doesn’t mean there’s no food. She likes the easy stuff — ready-made or ordered in.

She’s also defiant. If I say blue, she says black. Black, black, black. Later she’ll come back and say, “Sorry mom, you were right — it was blue.” And I’m like… then why argue in the first place? Just to give me a headache?

But the moments with my son — those are different.

Not many people see that raw side of me. I tried letting “The Narcissist” see it, just a little, but I pulled back. He wasn’t worth it. And when I realized that, I should’ve cut it right there. I thought maybe he’d evolve. That was a miscalculation on my end.

My son has seen it all. All of it. Every side of me.

And that warms my heart. Even now, when I feel like I’m failing — like right now — because of my situation, the uncertainty of everything going on in my life, yet I’m going away and I still feel like I’m failing. And yet… I own it. I paid for it. I’m going to enjoy it. Or at least make the best of it.

That’s who I am.

I’m not planning a trip to the largest festival in the world only to shrink myself. Millions of people, massive crowds — and yes, I hate crowds like that. Hate. But I’m not going for the crowd. I’m going for the unity, the music, the feeling you either get or you don’t.

I see videos of younger people holding phones the whole time. That’s not me. My phone stays in my pocket. Maybe I’ll take a video if there’s something incredible, but otherwise? No. I want to feel it.

Maybe my son may record some of it. Maybe during the day, maybe at night. I don’t know. I just know I can’t imagine standing there watching it through a screen.

And just to add — a few of my newfound friends are getting glimpses of that same person now. In doses. And honestly? I don’t care anymore.

That part of me is slowly starting to not give a shit.

I’m living. I want to be happy — me happy. And I’m sharing that with the apple of my eye, because that’s the feeling I want him to carry with him. That’s what happiness feels like.

He’s an Aquarius, if that means anything. Tough. Hard to crack. But I respect it. And if he ever has a meltdown, he knows he can say whatever he needs to. I will never say, “I told you so.”

That’s one thing my kids know about me: I don’t do that. I don’t need to. They already hear it in their own heads — in my voice. I don’t need to rub their faces in it.

And yes, when my daughter pushes me, I push back. And it won’t look good. Because when you think you’re on the same level as me — it’s like, kid, you’re not. We’re playing in two different universes.

Okay. Now I sound all over the place. But the point is, I’m ready for this solo trip and will be more prepared for the next.

And for once, I’m no longer questioning what I’m allowed to enjoy.