Back in the early part of 1982, maybe late 1981, there was a woman making headlines. Her mug was on every talk show, and her quotes were splattered across pages of many woman’s magazines. Her name was Serena Dank. She founded some exploitive group called Parents Against Punkers. Between Flipside, Maximum Rock and Roll, and We Got Power, Serena received tons of hate mail, rude cartoons, and overall vile comments.
Her goal was to sort of re-program punk kids into law-abiding preppies. But her argument was that punks were absolutely everything that was wrong with society. What blew about this was, like every group, there were some bad apples, but, every punk I knew was trying to make something of themselves.
None of Serena Danks’ ranting bothered me much. I felt I was under the radar enough to be immune. And I was for a minute, then at the age of 15 or 16, my mom and I would fight every time we would leave the house together. I wanted my leather jacket and 5 minutes to spike my hair. I was young, and mom took it way too serious.
So, she signed the family up for therapy. I went for about three months, the shrink was always trying to get me to come with my hair spiked, but for some reason, this embarrassed me, and I wouldn’t do it.
After a few sessions with my mom and me together, the shrink told me she thought my mom was over-bearing, I really didn’t know what this meant, so I said, “Cool.” And thought nothing more about it. Then one day my mom was after me about something or other and I blurted it something along the lines of, “The shrink is right, you are over-bearing.” This flipped my mom out a bit, and she accused me of making this up.
Within a day or so my mom called and canceled all further therapy sessions. It was chalked up to me swaying the shrink to my way of thinking. Kind of using “Hitler-like mind control”. I was accused of this when I was much younger if neighborhood kids liked me, but not my mom so much, I was pulling a “Hitler.”
Anyway, having gone through this I probably won’t care what my kids do with their hair, but then again, I might turn into an old fart and bitch about hair length and color too. But the greatest thing to come out of the therapy was that my brother went on to become a psychologist himself.