When I read this heartwarming story of a child who said "Screw you" to societal norms and escaped the tyranny of his daycare center for the comfort of Hooters, I was reminded of my own frost-cool youth.
My mother had always wanted a little girl to dress and paint with make up and braid the hair of. Unfortunately, she had been saddled with me- a whining, irritating creature with the wrong genitalia. She endeavored to dispose of me in the least incriminating ways; she would leave me in a shopping cart in the fruit section of the local supermarket (Kroger), or send me off to a summer camp that consisted of four surly and slightly inbred brothers and a miniature (or perhaps malnourished) horse and strangely took place during winter, or she would take me to the police station and insist that someone had left me on her front porch.
But always, I made my way back to where I belonged. I belonged at home with a mother who understood that sometimes little boys of five years old need to spend time in a small room with no illumination and poor ventilation and "think about whatever it was you did." I belonged with a mother who didn't always put out her cigarettes on my arms. I belonged with a mother who only spent four nights a week dancing on tables at high society functions with drunken louts nicknamed "Bobo" and "Freddie."
Then my balls dropped at age eight and mother cut my hair and let me go out in pants instead of dresses, and stopped calling me "Nancy."
In a way, when you think about it, we're all just trying to get Hooters, aren't we?