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Submitted by Pnk on Thursday, July 3, 2008 at 8:19 PM EST
 Thank You, Noc. Pnk's Thnks 5: Anatomy of a Fan Welcome back! Its time for another edition of the most amazing wrestling column known to man, still the only one written in pink. Screw thinking unicorns makes you a pioneer, I liked those before SkittleZ did too. That's right, Pnk's Thnks and I'm your hostess Pnk. You remember me, the girl who twists mic cords in double helixes and shows them what I’m made of. You do now? Damn skippy. So I have some business to attend to before I get into today's story. Now way back when I wanted to start writing columns I thought long and hard about how to debut. This column you were about to be was supposed to be my said debut but I chickened out because I didn't want to be known off the bat as the writer who wrote something sappy to get attention. I decided to put it aside for the time, wrote my debut about my Wrestle Mania/RoH weekend and what followed was history in the making. Soon I began competing in the Columns Forum Invitational and considered using it for my final face-off between Anthrax (Hi 'Thrax! Read his stuff you guys, man is a genius.) But again... I chickened out. THEN I got my Main Page call up and I seriously considered that it was time to write it but I had enough pressure hanging on me that I really felt it would affect how I wanted to tell the story, not to mention that I again didn't want to debut with sappy material. So I waited and as I brainstormed for this edition, I decided this was as good a time as any. So I warn you now, part of this is my own personal story with wrestling, which will make it a sappy tale. Also I should warn you that there is some material in this column that may offend some people. I'll try to make it as easy to digest as possible. Anyway, sit back and relax ladies and gentleman. Just don't say I didn't warn you. On both my mother and father's sides of the family, I grew up with boys. I wasn't a tomboy really, but I loved to try and be just like them. While on the guys on my father's side watched wrestling on very rare occasions, the males on my mother's side watched it constantly. I would occasionally watch it with them when I would happen to come into the room and it was on television but on November 15, 1998, that all changed. I can remember being extremely bored watching spanish television upstairs with the old people and deciding that downstairs with my cousins and their girlfriends would be more fun. They were all sitting around drinking beers and watching television so I asked my cousin's girlfriend now wife, Josette, if I could sit with her and she made room for me on the couch, cutting up a lime for me and sprinkled some salt on it so I had a snack (don't ask, I had odd tastes). They were discussing names I'd heard before: X-Pac, The Rock, Mankind, The Undertaker. I had no idea the specifics of the conversation but it sounded interesting. They were watching Heat and every now and then I'd give it some attention but would go back to snaking or talking to Josette. Finally, they all settled down and changed the channel to Pay Per View and that would be the moment it happened. Like I've said, I'd heard of it all before, seen it every now and then, but for some reason this day was different. I remember not wanting to take my eyes off the television screen, eventually sitting at the edge of the sofa as if being closer to the television made me closer to the action. I remember deciding almost instantly I loved Stone Cold more than any stupid guy in N'Sync. I remember deciding that Mankind was way more interesting than any cartoon. I remember falling in love with wrestling. I don't remember who my cousins were rooting for, I don't remember any conversation I had with them between matches. Only thing I know is that Josette said something to my cousin that ended up being exactly right, "I think wrestling just found a new fan." The beginning of my story isn't something out of the ordinary because many of us can relate to becoming a fan through family. Be it watching with your grandparents, your siblings, your mother or father. Most often than not, wrestling is something we pick up from our family. I've heard plenty of people relate their fondest memories of watching wrestling growing up with a plate of snacks and a family member watching with them. It's sorta why when people tell me wrestling isn't "family friendly" I tend to laugh in their faces. From that night on, it was how my older cousins could finally relate to me. They would educate me about past story lines, the names of moves, teach me terms I wouldn't have learned otherwise. They started buying me wrestling toys, wrestling books and magazines (since I loved to read so much anyway), and other wrestling related items. When before they hated to have their 11 year old cousin as their tag along, they now brought me along with them, even when the outing had nothing to do with wrestling. With their help, I stopped needing them to teach me things about wrestling because I started looking it up myself, started to remember when wrestling came on television without their help. My aunt began to take notice of my enjoyment of wrestling also and eventually began to persuade my mother to let me come over to watch Pay Per Views with my cousins. When my mother would complain that I had school the next day, she promised my cousins would drive me to school. I was pretty thankful, not only because I didn't have to ask myself, but it got me out of my mother's house. My mother remarried when I was 8 to a guy my Dad didn't trust. My Dad, much like myself, has a tendency to read the vibes people give off when we first meet them and automatically know if we like them or not. I was too young then to notice, or too impressionable, but my Dad warned my mother not to marry him. From what I've been told she accused him of being jealous (she's nuts) but he tried to reason with her that she hadn't known him that long and he had a bad feeling. She married him anyway. I was a pretty free thinking kid growing up. While my family, traditional and latin to boot, tried to make me the girliest girl imaginable (they've somewhat succeeded, the bastards), I tended to have more tomboyish characteristics than acceptable. They all pretty much let me be myself however, until my mother got married. My step father was pretty controlling, to the point where one day, when I said, "Britney Spears sucks" I got my mouth washed out with soap for saying "sucks". I hadn't understood what I'd done but slowly, other things began to catch my eye. My aunt and cousins began to lie to my mother, telling her I was staying over to go to a dinner or watch a movie, rather than wrestling. I was smart enough not to say anything to the contrary but I found it odd. Then my wrestling magazines and pictures in my binder began to come up missing and when I'd mention something to my step father he'd assure me I probably left them at my Dad's place or school. I was pretty sure I hadn't and would search my Dad's place or desk at school but I never found them. Finally, one day in the car, I realized what was going on. My step father was driving me home from my aunt's place on a Monday night and began the conversation with, "I know what you are doing over there." I was a little confused, as I assumed he knew anyway but he was acting like I'd been hiding it. "That stuff is garbage and it's bad in God's eyes. You should ask God for forgiveness." I tried to rationalize what he was telling me. Sure they swore and there was some sexual content every now and then, but it was like a movie to me. He watched movies like that all the time, it wasn't like I didn't know the difference. I let it go but when Pay Per View dates started getting blacked off my calendar and he blatantly came into my room and took down my Rock pictures, I began to grow up. Again, this part shouldn't be that far from reality from anyone else. Every now and then you find fans who's parents didn't get the wrestling thing. Much like parents who don't let their kids listen to certain types of music, to banning certain types of clothing. Reason vary also, from having super religious parents, to just plain 'ol controlling parents. I happen to have a step father who was a little of both, and something else. At 12 I grew up. My step father was more than controlling, he was abusive. When I was younger I hadn't paid it attention because I didn't know any better but the older I got, the more I began to feel that his late night visits were not right. My Dad never treated me like he did, my uncles never treated me like that either. He was overly affectionate. I began to remember things I had hidden inside myself as a child. The older I got, the harder it got to live in denial. Wrestling became more of an escape for me because I could use it to get out of the house. I had been doing it for a year or so but now, it was more so my door out of my house. It was also my rebellion, my way of bothering the person that was more than bothering me. With my rebellion came more abuse. Eventually, books, writing, dance classes, painting, even wrestling was almost not enough to keep me sane. I began to develop panic attacks, have bad dreams, cry for no reason. I began to become not myself. While I had been a pretty happy, fun loving child, I began to grow shy and quiet. I didn't see why I should be happy, I was alone. I'd grown up pretty faithful in God, given a Catholic upbringing. The older I got however, I began to feel like God had left me and eventually, I decided there was no God. Just hell. My father left California around this time. He was moving to Florida to take a job in a hospital he was offered. I desperately begged him not to go. I was his little girl, his only child, and with him I always felt safe. The only reason I didn't tell him what was happening was because I knew my father and was scared of just what he would do. I was scared of my mother hating me. I was just plain scared. From what he has told me now, he asked my mother to let me go with him, convinced he was going to give me a better life than she ever could. My mother, who didn't have a job and lived off my step father's random jobs, wouldn't let me. I have a theory it was for my child support but that's neither here nor there. My dad promised her that someday, when I was older, I'd come to live with him on my own accord because he and I were alike. He knew how to take care of me. He loved me more than anything in the world and I was going to choose him. When he left, my world collapsed. As fans, we all have our favorite wrestlers for one reason or another. The Rock for cutting the best promos ever. Hulk Hogan for his trademark phrases. Bret Hart for his "keen sense of style". We all get asked at one point or another and we all have a well explained reason. I have two answers, the honest one I give as a fan (Stone Cold, but that's another column for another day) and the personal answer almost no one knows about, until today. The day Owen Hart died I remember everything I was doing. My step father was working a night shift at one of his random jobs and my mother had given in to letting me watch the Pay Per View that night at home, since my step father had warned her not to let me leave the house for my aunt's. I was sitting on the edge of their bed, getting excited to see the Blue Blazer. I liked Owen because he made me laugh and his costume, in my eyes, was bad ass. When JR said Owen was hurt I got a bad feeling in my stomach, knowing that when JR assured us it was a real accident, he wasn't lying. I was sure though that he'd be fine, that nothing bad worse could happen. Then JR said he died. It was the first time I'd ever dealt with death. While an aunt of mine had died of cancer about 2-3 years before that, I'd been too young to feel what I felt that night. I turned off the television and went to my room to cry. When my mother tried to understand what was going on, I got frustrated and ended up crying some more. It was the first time I'd realized that wrestling, though I knew it was fake, wasn't the perfect world I loved to escape to and even in their world, REAL bad things could happen. My mother told my step father, God knows why, and he ended up giving me a long lecture and grounded me. I was so mad at him. I was so mad at everyone. I went into my room, went to my violin case, took out my violin and popped out the part that held my violin where I hid the one thing I cherished, my diary. I wrote Owen a letter that night, at 12 years old, asking him to remind God I was still here and I needed his help. If God was too busy, I asked, could he please help me out a little? He was strong. He could help me, I hoped. I told him I didn't believe in guardian angels anymore but if he could spare some time every now and then, could he check in on me because I was feeling really alone. By this point in time, I was pretty much beginning to lose it. And yet, something strange began to happen though. Even as the abuse continued I had begun to feel stronger. I begun to imagine that Owen was making ME stronger. I wasn't so alone anymore. When I was scared, when I needed someone to listen, I started to talk to Owen. Something else that began to change was that I started to ask Owen to tell God stuff for me. Although along the way I thought he left me I hoped that maybe Owen could get his attention. I asked for strength, I asked for hope, I asked for a way out. They say if you ask, you will receive. I was writing in my journal about a crush I had. His name was Vincent and I thought he was the best thing since sliced bread. We happened to be friends and had the same group of friends that wanted to stick together at our 8th grade trip so I was mentioning how I hoped to finally land that first kiss. My mother called me to go to the grocery store and instantly I locked the journal and pushed it under my sheets, assuming that since we were only picking up a couple things, nothing could happen to it. We were probably gone less than 30 minutes. As we entered the apartment with the groceries my step father, sitting at the dining room table, said something I hadn't expected. "So a dead wrestler is your hero?" I never felt so much hate inside me and to this day, I have yet to feel that. He went on to mock me, quoting directly from my journal everything from my crush to my hopes for a first kiss to my Stone Cold obsession, to a silly dream I had that Undertaker had tried to burry me alive. He called me names, told my mother I needed God, told me I wasn't allowed to watch wrestling anymore or go to my aunt's without him there. He informed me he took away all my posters, my Mankind book I cherished more than anything, my new Rock autobiography. Everything. He'd gone through my school books and got rid of all my wrestling pictures, even my bookmark. He left me with the most ignorant comment imaginable, "You want to know why that man died? Because God hates wrestlers and he deserved to die." After being humiliated I went to my room and he had in fact taken all my posters away. I went straight to my journal, taking the key from the small doggie stuffed animal I kept with me like a security blanket named Snoop Doggie (what can I say? I'm from California), reached into his beanie, and pulled out the lock key. I'd taken him with me, as I took him everywhere, so I couldn't figure out how he'd gotten into the journal. When the lock broke to pieces in my hands, I knew. He'd ripped up my whole entire journal, including the first entry I'd ever written to Owen. That was the lowest moment in my life. The day before my 8th grade trip to a field trip I got so stressed out I ended up getting into some trouble with my mother on purpose. As punishment, she decided to keep me home from the trip, even after we'd paid the money to let me go. I was livid. I threw a tantrum, screamed and yelled, but it was no use. When he got home my step father asked me to help him take out the trash. I assumed this would be a regular lecture but it wasn't. He made me get into my mother's car with him told me that he could get my mother to let me go, if I gave him what he wanted. Yeah. It was sort of in that moment that I felt like I was in a sick story line where I could either crumble and be weak or finally stand up for myself. I got out of the car. The next day, when I was home missing my trip, I finally told my mother everything. It happened as I attempted to sneak out of the house to run to school. Not to go on the trip, to tell someone there what I was too scared to tell my mother. When I told her I remember the look on her face, like she was hit over the head with a chair. She cried all day, asking me to take it back. When she calmed down she told me she was going to leave him, we were going to leave as soon as she could save some money. When my step father came home from work she took him into their room. I tried to listen in but with my little sister's crying and my brother's complaining, my ears couldn't catch a word. My step father stopped talking to me altogether. He'd go to work and come home, play with my brother and sister, talk to my mother, and ignore me. On weekends I finally got to stop asking for permission and spent it with aunt and my cousins. My family remained unaware as to why suddenly I was allowed to go without questions but they took me out, bought me stuff, let me watch television until my eyes hurt. I also got to visit my father's side of the family, whom I was always much closer to, more often as lately he'd been denying me the right. While it was a blessing, it was also a confirmation of something my Dad had once told me. My mother was weak. She was never going to leave him and I knew it. I just didn't know what to do about it. As summer came, I asked my father's sister, the aunt from my father's side I love more than anything in the world, if I could spend the summer with her. She was more than happy to let me. While it meant no Pay Per Views at my other aunt's house from my mother's side, I got to be with the family I loved. The family that was being denied to me. I left for the summer, it was the last time I'd live with my mother. As the summer came to an end, I began to panic that I would soon have to head home. I began to have small panic attacks and cry for no reason. My aunt every now and then would ask me when I was going home and I would pretend not to hear her. I was still talking to Owen, the stress still too much. Finally, she sat me down and told me she was scared of what I was going to answer, but she wanted to know if there was anything I needed to tell her. I told her everything. After that, everything changed. My father called me that night crying, begging me to forgive him for not seeing the signs, upset I hadn't felt safe to tell him. Truth was, I found out recently, he almost got on a plane with the intention of doing my step father some serious damage until my uncle in Miami stopped him. He informed me I'd be living with my aunt until he got a house and I wouldn't be returning to my mother's. My mother on the other hand called me to inform me that I was a horrible child and I'd done more damage than good. But for once, I didn't care. This day was the last day I talked to Owen. I didn't need him anymore. He'd made me as strong as he could. Things weren't easy, for 2 years I lived with my aunt and eventually I became a tad rebellious though that had a lot to do with being 15. Finally, when my Dad was ready for me, I moved to Florida. As I grew older, I became a different kind of fan. I don't think it was different than the transition any young fan makes. I stopped drawing wrestling pictures, I stopped making up my own wrestlers, I stopped pretend fighting with my cousins. I grew up into a "smart" fan. I began to appreciate wrestling in a way a regular fan would. I did however gain something different from wrestling than a normal fan. Wrestling did for me what music, books, movies, or shows do for other people who sometimes need something in their lives. When I needed to feel stronger, wrestling gave me that strength. When I needed something to look forward to, wrestling was that thing for me. Wrestling, at a young age, helped me learn that even the smaller guys can be strong and sometimes, you need to stand up for yourself. It wasn't an overnight lesson, it took a while, but with a lack of strong role models in my life, I don't think I would have ever taken myself out of that situation had it not been for wrestling. I'm not saying it saved my life, but it taught me to take care of myself. But that's not all. Through Owen, I got a chance to keep myself sane. Again, it's not that Owen saved my life or anything of the sort, but my young mind needed something tangible to think of through the pain. Someone strong and powerful. Owen became that person for me. Some people have imaginary friends, I had Owen. Had I been older, I don't think I would have needed him, but at 12, I needed something. I never stopped being a fan and I don't think I ever will. Call it being emotionally attached. I'm not the type of fan I was when I was 12. I can't be. But I don't forget about it. Sometimes I think that fans of wrestling make it seem like they were ALWAYS smart fans, like they never had emotional moments as a fan. Like wrestling never really did anything for them. I think for fans who became fans when they were young, it's hard not to have some sort of emotional attachment. Had the abuse not been going on, would I still be the fan I am today? I think so. Because I would still have the memories of seeing my first Pay Per View, my first Wrestle Mania, my first stunner, my first promo. I found God again. Not through wrestling, but I did. When I was thinking of my path with God before I got rebaptisted a couple years back, I remembered how I used to ask Owen to talk to God for me. I thanked God for giving me a friend when I needed it. I thanked him for giving me an outlet to reach him when I'd lost hope. I still talk to Owen every now and then now that I'm older. Not really when I have problems like before, more just about wrestling. It's one of those funny quirks I never got over, like my enjoyment of Disney movies and saying hello to a tree in my grandmother's backyard I swore could talk like in Pocahontas when I was younger. Yeah, I still do that. We are all fans for different reasons. That's mine, or at least part of the reason. There you go. Yeah, I know, gloomy. I'm really sorry if anyone expecting something different. I think it was something that was going to keep bothering me until I wrote it and got it out there. I promise that next week you can expect a MUCH lighter column than this week's edition. If anyone would like to give me some feedback you know where to reach me, PnksThnksFeedback@gmail.com. You can also reach me at the LoP Forums. I even have a feedback thread in there, as do all the columnist you enjoy on the Main Page. Can't get enough of the Main Pagers? Talk to us in there or enjoy the LoP Columns Forum. Plenty of writers in there to enjoy. Especially if my column bummed you out, check out some funny columns in there. Oh another thing, I want to dedicate this column anyone who ever went through abuse of any kind. I don't want to come across as a PSA but there are so many outlets out there you can turn to. Please do. You can go to sites like ChildHelp.org or the Abuse Victim Hotline or others out there that can help you, not to mention countless other sources of help. Okay, I'm done with the heavy stuff. Again, if you can wait, give me two week and I promise happy Pnk me will be back to entertain. As a wise man once told me, one must let go of the past to move forward. His name is SkittleZ. You may know him. Okay yall, I'm splitting like the ends of my hair. Dang I need a haircut. I have been the one and only, Pnk <3 PnksThnksFeedback@gmail.com WOW! Candice Soaks Herself in Beer with Her New Look!
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