2008 Woodie Awards
What's love got to do with it?
Charissa Che
Issue date: 4/30/08 Section: Opinions & Editorials
It was just a stupid email from my best friend's cousin. They called him "Cheetah," or some other cat name for reasons unknown to me. I never found out his real name. My best friend Anne told Cheetah I looked just like how he envisioned Cho Chang - Harry Potter's crush -to look and he became enamored with the mere idea of me.
I was twelve and in the seventh grade. My libido was bouncing off the walls and I had no idea what to do about it. Anne gave Cheetah my email address and when I received a message from him, it felt good, to say the least. I forget the content of the email now - something about how he only listened to Z100 for Linkin Park and how he was going to Barbados for the summer to visit family; it didn't matter. It was the first time in my awkward adolescent life that a guy had taken any interest in me, and I wanted to tell everyone.
Unfortunately what "everyone" comprised of at that specific time and place were my parents.
I nearly tackled my mom as she came down the stairs: "Mom! Mom! I got an email!"
My mom was used to having me throw her surly looks when I thought she wasn't looking or slamming the door in her face in fits of teen angst and misunderstanding. She raised a wary brow.
"What are you talking about?" she asked.
"This friend - well, Anne's cousin emailed me! I thought it would never happen! Isn't that like crazy exciting Mom?"
"Is this a boy or a girl?"
"Err... a boy?"
"Oh, interesting…" she trailed off before casually traipsing back up the stairs.
What followed was a stern marathon lecture from my dad about how it wasn't time for me to be romantically interested in boys and how I should focus on my schoolwork as that was the only pertinent thing worth living for. I insisted I had no romantic feelings for Cheetah and my parents saw right through me. The days and months which followed consisted of them closely monitoring my phone calls and emails. They'd catch me while I was watching TV at all the wrong times (during sex scenes) and snap at me to "stop watching porn."
I was twelve and in the seventh grade. My libido was bouncing off the walls and I had no idea what to do about it. Anne gave Cheetah my email address and when I received a message from him, it felt good, to say the least. I forget the content of the email now - something about how he only listened to Z100 for Linkin Park and how he was going to Barbados for the summer to visit family; it didn't matter. It was the first time in my awkward adolescent life that a guy had taken any interest in me, and I wanted to tell everyone.
Unfortunately what "everyone" comprised of at that specific time and place were my parents.
I nearly tackled my mom as she came down the stairs: "Mom! Mom! I got an email!"
My mom was used to having me throw her surly looks when I thought she wasn't looking or slamming the door in her face in fits of teen angst and misunderstanding. She raised a wary brow.
"What are you talking about?" she asked.
"This friend - well, Anne's cousin emailed me! I thought it would never happen! Isn't that like crazy exciting Mom?"
"Is this a boy or a girl?"
"Err... a boy?"
"Oh, interesting…" she trailed off before casually traipsing back up the stairs.
What followed was a stern marathon lecture from my dad about how it wasn't time for me to be romantically interested in boys and how I should focus on my schoolwork as that was the only pertinent thing worth living for. I insisted I had no romantic feelings for Cheetah and my parents saw right through me. The days and months which followed consisted of them closely monitoring my phone calls and emails. They'd catch me while I was watching TV at all the wrong times (during sex scenes) and snap at me to "stop watching porn."
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