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I’ve encouraged myself to write down my stream of consciousness.

I think we are all blessed with having profound thoughts, but it’s what you make and do with these ideas is what shapes you.

I just wrote a few blog about living my true-self and pushing my comfort zone, and then as I was driving around town listening to a synth-dance beat when it occurred to me. I am listening to this song right now because of my parents.

Of course, my parents did not tell me to listen to the song, in fact I am certain they’ve never heard of Whethan in their lives.

I thought back to how my dad loves the sounds of disco and how my mom loves dancing. Just as we have all feared, we are a product of my parents. Yes parents, we are this way because of you.

I know, we are all vomiting in our brains right now. We hate to admit we are linked; forever imprinted by our families.

When I was a younger we would travel to Italy and Germany every other summer to visit our cuggini and Zie. The partying age was 18 so it wasn’t before too long we were all clubbing and enjoying a discotega nightlife together.

The catch is I was three years younger than my older sister. But I still went.

I remember at the prime age of 14 my mom slapped on cat-eye eyeshadow and red lipstick on my lips, handed me heels and pushed me out the door and said “have fun!”

I had a blast of course! Drinking rum and cokes and staying up way past my bedtime, what 14 year old wouldn’t be having a good time?

{I want to note that my parents did not encourage the drinking of liquor at this age.}


One of my favorite memories of driving into Baltimore City as a kiddo was listening to my dad’s techno and disco cassettes. A few impressionables include Michael Zager Band – Let’s All Chant and The BeeGees. Every morning on the drive up we listened to these songs, and every night back home we would rewind and press play.


It’s no wonder why I love music like dubstep, techno, and dance club mixes. My whole childhood, musically speaking, was comprised of beats that made you want to shake your booty.

Now, this is where the theory begins to expand.

I wear what I wear (when I go out) and am who I am because of this love of techno beats.

I am the direct by product of my parents.

Girls that go clubbing wear a certain kind of get-up. Their body looks a certain way (think of tattoos & piercings, etc.), and their mouths speak a certain way.

I love to dance and I love to go to big cities and dance in the clubs with the bass turned up and the flashing lights swirling.

{Thanks mom and dad for the influence!}


This may seem like an odd link given that my parents both dress, behave, and are rather conservative people.

My mom would never wear fishnets unless it was Halloween. My dad would never listen to dubstep.

But because of their influence and it being translated through my soul, it turns into this product of me.

My parents constantly wonder where I got my personality traits from. In fact, last time I was home making dirty jokes about dildos my grandmother said in her broken english “I don know who she takes after”. Well Nonna, thank your daughter!

Another great annoyance to my parents, my dad especially, is how little I like to be clean.

My Pappie has had his morning routine down-pat every day since he could care for himself. Wash face, brush hair, dress presentably.

Mine is more like, get out of bed, wipe sleep from my eyes, face the day!

How could it possibly be that the child of a presentable man is so untamed in her image? Why must she run around barefoot!

I’m not blaming, but the love of gardening my family has is the result of why I love to feel dirt between my toes.  

The whole hippie-earth-loving side of me is a result of gardening with my mother before catching the school bus.

I learned to love the earth and all its grubby wonders from a very young age.

My family has a rich background in home agriculture and it’s a trait that resonated deeply with me (My other sisters kill cacti).

As I went away to college and began to explore myself I found a dirt-loving group of rock climbers. They never washed their toes or clothes! We all smelled of onions, leaves, and patchouli. I have found my heaven on earth.

Still to this day my dad yells at me for not having socks and shoes on. If he spys a stray sleep-crusty he bellows at me to go wash my face. I argue with him that I have dry skin and no face lotion, therefore I cannot wash!

Thanks Gabe for this picture of our VW bus!

Now a third and very prominent aspect of me that is bewildering for my parents to endure… my love of being naked.

You wonder, how could any parent be in the influence of their child’s naked body?

Are you ready?


So much Roman and Venetian art. The statue of David and exaggerated weiners of take-home souvenirs in Pompeii….

Honestly, anything to do with Italy can directly be blamed for my love of pasta and profanity.

You can say I really do appreciate the level of exposure my parents have for history and the arts. I take it to heart so much that I married a sculptor and had him cast my bust in white plaster so I too could look like one of the many classical Bernini statues.

The way a muscular or soft body looks in a sculpture, image, or painting is just breathtaking. A skinny body where you get the opportunity to see things a fleshy body couldn’t, or, just the opposite. A round body has so much more to observe! In essence, everybody has a beauty to behold and why not share mine!

In some ways this theory is more of a security blanket for both child and parent.

No longer do our families need to wonder where our uniqueness came from. No more questions about the milkman, or “where did I go wrong”.

No longer do we, the black sheep of the family need to feel estranged from our loved ones. We are this way because of our crazy families.

We can feel comfort in knowing that the apple never falls far from the tree; it did come from the tree after all! Even if the tree was planted on a hill and the apple rolls far far away and gets tattoos and poses naked, it will still grow up to be an apple tree.