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My name is Jon Chapman. I’ve read that in medieval England, Chapmans were

peddlers of random crap. My paternal grandfather was Irish, not English, but I’d assume

that Chapmans were the same profession in Ireland. Maybe I’d be wrong. Being from

Ireland my grandfather and his kids were very Catholic. My name is Jon. Very Catholic.

My brothers’ names are Matthew, Joshua, and Michael. All very Catholic. We were

raised to be Catholic, church, Sunday school, baptism, and confirmation for all of us. I

hated church as a child because I didn’t like taking an hour out of my time on Sundays

to pray when I could be eating dirt or playing Pokémon. I disliked church as an

adolescent because I never heard god despite that everyone else seemed to. I felt like I

was missing something. Church was where I first experienced Fear of Missing Out.

Church was where I first questioned authority. Church was where I decided that I was

not Catholic.

My name is Jon Chapman. My name is catholic but I am not. My Dad is catholic,

but mom is not. My mom was never a catholic, but she went to church with my family

faithfully as far as I could tell at ten years old. She went on Sundays, did communion

and prayed, a perfect mold of any member of such a somber congregation. She was

present but she wasn’t there. She went to church for my dad despite the difficulties in

their marriage. One night when I was ten, she left a note on the counter and left to live

with her sister for months. In her note, she said she loved us and needed time. She and

my father were experiencing difficulties. To this day I’m not sure why, but I’ve heard

rumors of infidelity that I’m inclined to believe. My dad took us to a gas station for some

candy, and when we came back it sunk in that she was gone. I laid on our hard kitchen

floor and cried for 15 minutes until my dad picked me up and carried me to bed.
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I remember very little about when mom was gone, but it was different when she

came back. She stopped going to church. Until that point, I thought that you had to. If

you were catholic, you went to church. I assumed no one wanted to, because it was

boring. I knew that when I wasn’t in my family home, I wouldn’t go to church anymore.

Why should I? I can’t hear god.

I never asked many questions as a child. I was curious about many things

especially in the elementary sciences, but I assumed that the world was a cut and dry

place. My dissatisfaction with church life taught me to question things, especially people

in an authoritative position. Before I realized that church was not for me, I’d assumed

that adults were always smart and right. After, I was a pain in the ass for substitute

teachers. I can’t remember the teachers name, but I remember a science class

discussing gears. We were talking in science about how belts, gears and pulleys

interacted. The substitute of the day (wish I could remember her name) tried to explain

that two pulleys connected by a belt that wasn’t twisted would rotate in opposite

directions. She then demonstrated on a little device that was simply two red pulleys

connected by a belt, with yellow arrows drawn on the pulleys. The yellow arrows pointed

in opposite directions, but spun in the same direction.

“See? They spin in opposite directions!” she’d exclaimed, beaming proudly at her

marvel of science. I sure called her out

“You mean the same direction?”

“ That’s not what I said, no.” she was kind in her first correction, but I pressed

her.
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“No, the arrows are pointing in opposite directions, but the pulleys are spinning in the

same direction.” After this, she was visibly upset. She left a note for our homeroom

teacher regarding my rude behavior, without admitting that she was wrong. That teacher

taught me that people in positions of authority weren’t always right, an important lesson

for a burgeoning young punk. The event also earned me the reputation of a nerdy know-

it-all (distinctly un-punk) which I was. In middle school, I learned two things: nerds aren’t

popular and how to pretend I was not a nerd. In middle school, I wasn’t going to be a

nerd, or a jock, or a cowboy. I’d be whatever the situation required. I’d Chameleon.

Chameleons are often depicted as masters of disguise nature. Able to blend in

with their surroundings on a whim. In reality (or maybe just the reality of pet

chameleons, or of a particular pet chameleon) they are dramatic primadonnas that

change colours as if their skin was a mood ring.

I thought I was the first, wearing plaid and wranglers. Just like many classmates,

or at least the most popular ones. I didn’t want to be me, because being and acting

nerdy didn’t get you laid (In middle school and high school, I was fairly certain that

social credit like this was the key to popularity and happiness). Being punk didn’t give

much social credit either, but it did make one of female classmate’s dads hate me (more

authority to be against). I loved that. It seemed logical at the time to blend in and get

some social credit. In reality I never blended into anything. Like the chameleon that

turns white and red as soon as you open its cage, I was just mismatched, irritable, and

hissing. I went through middle school weird, mismatched and unhappy.

In high school, I tried a different approach. I met Frank in high school. Frank was

an ambassador for emo culture, and I was very interested. Dressing a little weird,
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growing hair out and listening to inaccessible music? Sounds like a great time to me. I

was done with trying to garner social credit, but instead of learning to love myself for

what I was, I decided to give up on myself. If no one liked me, I needn’t like myself

either (through all my years, my friend Nathan has actually never left my side, but I was

a little too self-important to see that. He’s also one of my only remaining friends from

Milk River). I indulged in a culture of sad music and complacency, and it created a

desire to change myself whenever I left. I graduated high school in 2012 with honours,

and decided that when I left, I’d reinvent myself so that I would be popular. That

happened my first year U of L.

I decided that I’d function best moving into residence in my first year at the

University of Lethbridge. I wanted the full university experience. I moved into D/E1, the

basement floor of uHall residence with Nathan on the last weekend in August of 2012. I

was excited to meet everyone, and most importantly, reinvent myself based on their

expectations. Our first night, everyone on the floor sat in the common room exchanging

majors, interests, and favourite booze. We met our R.A.’s (who were quite cool for

R.A.’s) and they gave us the rules rundown. Don’t sleep with people on your floor, be

kind, don’t drink outside of rooms/pods, etc. It was also the first time I met Russell.

Russell was commanding the discussion in the common room. My previous experiences

with anyone popular (like a certain jock named Darcy) led me astray. As soon as I saw

Russell babbling his drivel in the common room I thought man, what a douchebag. After

a short time listening and not really talking to anyone, I left to my room to play skyrim.

I couldn’t believe how much attention everyone paid (realistically especially

attractive girls) to that knob. I would never admit this to myself, but I was jealous. This
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dude had a shine, and I thought it was a thing that I needed to be popular. In the early

days of the first semester (when I still went to class), I woke up at 7:45 everyday, to

shower and eat before my 9:00 am class. Everyday as I stepped out of the shower

wearing flip flops and wrapped in my towel, I’d grab my toothbrush and stand at the sink

beside Russell. He also brushed his teeth at 8:00 every day. It became pointless to

avoid talking to him. Besides, if I did, I might have an in with some cute girls/ friend

groups.

As it turned out, Russell was kind of a nerd. He was a new media major that

loved Mass Effect and Dead Space. He loved to play some Call of Duty and Halo as

well, video games that I really liked. He didn’t hide it though. He talked about his actual

hobbies and interests, and was still a popular dude. We started grabbing lunch and

dinner together. We played video games together. We drank together. That douche

slowly became one of my best friends.

With Russell I learned that I didn’t need to be anything in particular to be popular,

or that being popular was necessarily even important around the right people. He didn’t

blend and no one faulted him for it. I needed to know, but I wouldn’t learn the

importance of confidence until later.