ohbloodyhell8

Ah, lunch with Freddie. Well, I suppose it would be filled with many decadent foods. Or perhaps no food, just the amazing opportunity to sing with him and his glorious set of pipes. Of course I would have my pre-pregnancy voice when I still had a break and could slip easily enough from head voice to chest voice. (Don’t ask how two pregnancies affected my voice. I’ll give you the short version-morning, noon and night sickness for about eight months each pregnancy equals way too many times getting the sicks (as my sons call it). It did damage and has gotten slightly better. Probably would get a lot better if I actually had the opportunity to sing like I used to.)

“Love of my Life,” “Seaside Rendezvouz,” and of course, “Somebody to Love” would be first up. I’ve sung these songs with him hundreds of times, but to hear his voice in person would be extraordinary. My cousin saw them in concert in the 70’s. I was a bit too young to have attended at the time, but she told me about it. She either gave Freddie a rose or he gave her a rose, but clearly they were in the spit zone. How cool would that be?

Eventually I would have to talk with Freddie about what made my connection to him so strong. Our teeth. It is said he was worried if he got them fixed it might impact his singing. I didn’t know about that as a girl. I just knew I hated being called Bugs Bunny. I happily let the orthodontist stick those silver clamps on my teeth. But you never let go of the feelings. Now I don’t sit each day crying about it, but the hurt remains still buried deep down inside. I dealt with my teen angst in a more creative way, perhaps because of my connection to Freddie. He was bold and audacious. He exuded confidence, regardless of what he may have been like on the inside. I adopted the same strategy. No, not as flamboyantly as he did but I was on a tighter budget.

As I began to find my way and feel more comfortable in my skin, I passively participated in the mocking and teasing of another. I have regretted it since the moment I did. I wasn’t like a “mean girl” or at least I tried not to be one. I fought peer pressure everyday and resisted being like everyone else because I didn’t see the fun in it. But on this one day, I passively participated because I did not stop it or even try to stop it. This poor kid had been treated like I had when I was younger, but for him it continued all the way through high school. He hadn’t toughened up his skin, he hadn’t made it so the game was played on his terms, and he still was getting teased, mocked, probably in more ways than I ever want to know.

Now being a mother I worry that my little ones could be in his situation one day. They march to their own drummers, again, not as flamboyantly as Freddie, but we’re still on a budget. My oldest feels more comfortable walking into school as a dinosaur and relates more comfortably with teens and adults than children his own age (his sense of humor is more dry, British and the other second graders tend not to get it). In his kindergarten picture, my macabre youngest looks like Jack Nicholson from The Shining and he has a deep passion for germs and creatures (as in from the Black Lagoon and “Frankenstein’s…”). My prayer is they do keep marching to their own drummer, but also learn how to play the game by their own rules of engagement so they don’t get hurt.

Freddie and Queen helped me through so much as I’m sure they did for many people. They helped me learn to “Play the Game” so we’d have to sing that one too. I think I would be in awe too much to sing “Bohemian” with him, but I’d definitely do the air guitar and head-banging. “I’m Going Slightly Mad” would be sung perhaps while sipping a drink. Then as dessert was placed on the table we could just scat a bit.

A confession would come out about how I helped that boy get mocked, teased, butchered by boys far less mature than him. An apology for going against an unspoken code of sticking together. I’ve tried to locate that guy. Contrary to popular belief you can keep yourself off the internet if you choose to because I can’t find a trace of him. Freddie would get the apology. For not being bold enough to say stop. For not being brave enough to go against the popular mob mentality. For forgetting my roots. The other way to apologize to someone I cannot find is how I am raising my sons. Many of the lessons I teach them have (and will) come from my mistakes. I know they will have to make their own mistakes to truly learn some of the lessons, but I’ll try to head some of them off at the pass.

“I Want to Break Free” of these sad, regretful emotions, but I don’t  want to lose the lessons they taught me. I’d like to not feel like a nine-year old girl with buck teeth, glasses and a cow-lick that makes all the “in” hair-styles impossible to achieve. I suppose we’re all walking around feeling like our nine-year-old selves. The world could be friendlier if we all remembered that feeling and that we’re all simply doing the best we can. That is a tall order. I stumble with it everyday.

After dessert Freddie and I would sing a rousing rendition of “Crazy Little Thing Called Love” and probably call it a day. When I got home from lunch, I’d give my two little guys great big hugs.