My children, The Boys (as they will forever collectively be known) have their own blog. This is to keep in touch with family and friends in the UK, and for their general amusement, I also happen to think that it's quite educational for them to learn to compose, spellcheck, publish, that kind of thing.
Anyway, there I was adding some pictures for them that we had uploaded yesterday (of Onions as it happens - no, you probably don't want to subscribe to this particular page unless you are under the age of eight); and I started checking some of my regular reads - bookmarked for my ease - some not yet link to due to my laziness.
I was aware that now was not the time to leave comments, after all I was using The Boys' identity. But I was tired, and then something that Eliza The Very Funny Almost Med Student wrote, made me laugh and I tapped out just a little, quick comment forgetting which user I was under.
The Boys blog contains pictures of themselves (yes, and onions) and also their little ramblings but Eliza was sweet enough to leave a nice comment, and not forward the link to any local Wierdos. So. No situation here! Thanks to Eliza. NO THANKS TO MUMMY!
So, it got me thinking about the cloud of anonymity that we all tend to use in order to blog freely. I also thought, that it's nothing new (here comes another blog about me, me, me), I have been living behind that cloud most of my life.
When you (me) are at school and your Dad works in the "Media", the young children equate this with "Your Dad Is Famous". They used to whisper and point at me and I was "the girl who..." for most of my formative years. How they even knew what he did for a living is beyond me.
Anyway, so they would expect me to be prettier than normal people, more glamorous, more polite, more smiley - you get the idea. I balked at this and I responded by only letting one or two people close to me and used the "They don't really KNOW me" theory to protect myself from the rest of the world. Somehow the stigma followed me to Senior School, only there, I had the added pressure of Elite Headmistress and teachers with "Doctor" before their name, expecting me to be not only pretty, but Clever too. Brilliant.
By thirteen I had seriously had enough. I would trowel my face with white pan stick stage make up and paint black patterns of varying design in the space between my eyes and my eyebrows - Hell, I made Marilyn Manson look positively demure. I played a role and no one was allowed to know me.
Stepping infront of a camera is (and always has been) second nature to me. I have made a living out of talking, informing, smiling etc. I was thrown* in to do an interview with less than 30 seconds notice once (I was there to do the Sound!!):
I grabbed a mike and the words spilled out of my mouth, and I nodded and smiled in all the right places. When I came away, another reporter who had watched the whole thing was agog. She said "where did that come from?" I shrugged, a bit embarrassed. I watched the rushes back and it was a good interview.
Fast Forward a few years and Babysis and I are shooting with a camcorder our Everyday Lives to send to our brothers in Oz**; we are chatting and being Generally Banal. Bright red colour has risen up my face; I stutter and trip over my words; I grin like an amateur and my voice is strangled. I am twisting my hair with my finger and I am very uncomfortable. I have to be ME infront of a camera, instead of The Reporter, The Presenter or The Broadcaster.
I Can't do it! I prefer to be anonymous.
So, in summary, this is me:
I'm not so anonymous anymore as I was before Eliza read my babies' blog, but I am totally OK with it. I like me.
Well, Nearly anyway...*not literally
**before I made the move over here obviously
3 comments:
don't worry femme, you're still anonamous- i just now know how cute your kids are!
Bugger,
Did I get it wrong? So much for your anonymity. You are nothing like I pictured. When I read a book, I try to imagine who in Hollywood I would place in the roles. I imagine my actors are nothing like what the author pictured.
Nor are you. Where are the dreadlocks I imagined! Why? I have no idea. But that’s how I pictured you, as an earth loving mother with spirited and free and much loved children.
What’s missing in the picture? Your soul. Your eyes are the windows and I can’t see them. You have beautiful hair though, and nice lips. Sorry but that’s all I can see! Think your wearing big Jackie Onasis glasses under your little blank………..
Eliza - Thanks! I think they're gorgeous,of course, but I am biased!
Widescreen - I do the same thing!I read Trainspotting many year ago and was screaming at the screen when I saw who had been cast for the film!
I spent three days (five years ago) having the dreadlocks cut out of my hair, now it twists and grows wrapped around itself like my hair has a mind of it's own and want the locks back!
Thank you for your lovely thoughts; my own brother has trouble picturing me in his head when I am not with him, he sees Angelina Jolie every time (lucky him!)
P.S I was indeed wearing Jackie Os that day!
Post a Comment