ROGER'S MOM gave him a perm in '78... well,
actually, it was more like '83, but that's irrelevant.
Back in the early eighties, there was this enor-
mous surf craze. From Maine to Arizona, Omaha
to Tulsa, kids were sportin'
their Hobie and OP Shorts.
Lightning Bolt, you name it.
The whole country was in
some sort of weird Don Ho-
induced Hawaii 5-0 haze.
And right there in the mid-
dle of it, in the armpit town
of Bakersfield, was an awk-
ward twelve-year-old named
Roger. Bakersfield was no
stranger to Maui & Sons, and neither was Roger.
For some strange reason, though, this kid was
40 THRASHER
Canvas
Roger Seliner
always about a step and a half back-well, not
really back, more to the side-but as always he
seemed to have a little bit of trouble getting
over that last hump. Roger just didn't have
what it took to be cool.
If Levi 501s were the
rage, Roger would be
in corduroys, if the kids
were wearing Nikes or
slip-on Vans, he'd be in
Keds or K-Mart World
Cup blue lighters. This
vicious cycle would
constantly dominate.
poor little Roger's life,
that is until one day while dreaming of the
exotic hula girls of the North Shore, it hit him. It
was all so simple, why hadn't he
thought of it sooner? Curly hair! Not
just curly hair, beautiful waves of soft,
sun-bleached red hair. His mom was
a beautician, how hard could it be?
Sure, at first the other kids would be
jealous, but after a while, their envy
would surely turn to admiration, or
so he thought. Roger did not realize
it yet, but it took more than the right
hair to be accepted into the puberty-
stricken hierarchy of a junior high.
So finally one day, after getting his
mom to agree on performing the
deed, which didn't take much, her
being a beautician and all, it was
about to happen. Ammonia was in
the air, everything was falling into
place. "OK, mom, real loose, just a
little curly, Roger carefully dictated.
Unfortunately, like all parental types,
she knew "just what he wanted."
Moms and dads always seemed to
think that they knew just what the
child wanted and exactly how to
make their kids' dreams a reality. Usually the par-
ent would get these things about as wrong as
possible-this time was no exception. After
enduring what seemed like an eternity in those
ammonia-steaming curlers, it was at long last
over. But don't think for an instance that it wasn't
worth while. Roger was more than willing to do
it a hundred times if that's what it'd take to final-
ly make it with the other kids. So there he was,
about ready to pee his pants, just waiting for
those curlers to come out. One by one his mom
removed the rollers, and with each one, Roger's
confidence grew, each curl a building block for
his ever growing self-esteem. Then with only
about five or six curlers left on his head, he just
couldn't take it. He just had to see the new and
improved Roger. Jumping from his chair, he
raced to the bathroom
mirror to behold perfec-
tion. But what he found
was hardly perfection.
"I look like Annie,"
Roger thought to him.
self, gazing at the atro
cious sight that used to
be his hair, the tightly
knit curls forming a perfect little
dome on his pale, insignificant
face. "Little Orphan Afro..."
surely that's the label he'd be
branded with, what else was
there? Kids were cruel. Roger
knew it, the kids knew it. For-
tunately for Roger, his days in
Bakersfield were just about up.
In a couple of days Roger and
his mom would be on their
way to Florida. A week's drive
might tame the curls in Roger's
little hair helmet. A new town
with new kids-maybe it would
finally happen. Maybe Roger
would at long last be able to fit
in. But in the end, it really didn't mat-
ter, and Roger would eventually learn
about what truly did mean some
thing, what actually did hold some
importance. Besides, little Roger
liked to travel, and travel he would.
Now at the ripe age of twenty-five,
Roger has somewhat settled down
in the riot grrrl-infested town of
Olympia, WA. Needless to say, it's
doubtful that he'll be there long.
Roger has been mumbling about
boats a lot lately, and it's hard to say
what will happen if he ever gets his
hands on one. The high seas, Captain
Roger? Who knows? And what any of
this has got to do with Roger's artistic
ability, I'm not too sure. Nevertheless,
Roger is truly an exceptional person,
whether on a skateboard, with paint
brush or as a friend. If you get the
chance to meet this kid, it would be
worth your while to treat him right.
He'd do the same for you, ten-fold.
-Arthur Lindsey