Ever since I can remember, I’ve been a huge day-dreamer, often day-dreaming about becoming the next superstar that people would cough up their hard-earned cash to see perform.
As a young kid in the 90’s, I wanted to be the next Tom Petty. I had every one of his songs memorized and would sing them for an imaginary audience in my bedroom.
Later, during the late 90’s/ early 2000’s boy band craze, I wanted to be the next Justin Timberlake. I had every *NSYNC dance move memorized and even threw in my own choreography. Again; mostly for either an imaginary audience beyond the wall in my bedroom, or for the stuffed animals lined up on my waterbed.
I even remember in elementary school when my best friend Derek and I would try to do the dance moves together like we were in an *NSYNC music video, while we listened to the the band through my portable boombox in the basement of the house my Dad built in Albany, KY.
A year or so went by and I got really into WWF wrestling. So if I wasn’t practicing my dance moves, I was standing on my toy box , with one eyebrow raised, yet again looking into an imaginary audience while they chanted my name, ready for me to take on my evil heel opponent, which was a large teddy bear with “HHH” written on its butt with a magic marker.
Between music and my newfound obsession with professional wrestling, I spent most of my time inside my own imagination. My need for an escape from reality became apparent in 1999, when my parents finalized their divorce and I became the object of a hotly contested custody battle.
Week after week, my Mom would do everything she could to turn me against my Dad, while he would spend the little visitation time he had, attempting to repair the damage she had done. It was an exhausting back and forth for a young boy, so I often found solace in my imagination, often tuning out reality completely. You’d often find me with a pair of headphones on, listening to either a cassette or a CD.
Both my parents still allowed me to watch wrestling while I was on their watch, so it became one of the only constants I had in my life. My parents could be fighting it out in a courtroom, I could be dragged into a courtroom to give a brainwashed testimony, I could be pulled aside to be given a talk on how wrong the other parent was, etc. and the storylines and such still remained the same. Good guy versus bad guy. Bad versus evil.
I spent so much time inside my own imagination that it quickly started to shape who I was as a person. I was a “performer”. It was what I wanted to do. I wanted nothing more than to permanently be inside my world of creativity and away from all the bullshit that the “real world” had to offer. My turbulent upbringing robbed me of any sort of traditional childhood to look back on, so my fondest memories are often of moments of escape.
As a young kid going through elementary school, I found my creative pursuits expanding into writing. Often my favorite classes were the ones that involved writing stories, or accounts or things that happened that I could fabricate and see how much I could get away with before the teacher realized I was making stuff up.
I even began to craft WWF storylines with my friends, that we would reenact at recess, often getting into trouble for “fighting” as all the teachers really saw was one kid superplexing another off of a fence, not any sort of creative activity. We had our move sets, personas, and even factions. I was the leader of the Wolfpack (inspired by the NWO Wolfpac of WCW) and another group of students comprised the WWA (Whippers of Wolfpack… well ya’know…). The school quickly got wind of this and the principal confiscated my story lines and move set sheets, that had detailed drawings and descriptions of moves I had dreamed up and written down in my spare time. In fear that this was actual gang violence, they interviewed all the students involved, putting some in counseling, and giving others a slap on the wrist.
As I faced the principal and vice principal in their office, I still remember the feeling of horror as they placed my creative scribbles in front of me and asked me “What is this, Luke?” I was horrified because I realized that they obviously had the wrong idea, but that they would never believe some kid that had “stomp on opponents head” written down on a sheet of paper, when he said that it was wrestling stuff just written for fun.
However, even at a young age I was a compelling storyteller. I quickly backpedaled while still maintaining the truth about what my intentions were.
“Those are wrestling moves. I like WWF wrestling and dream of becoming a superstar one day, so I came up with my very own move set.”
“Do you do these moves on your friends, Luke?”
“No, absolutely not. We basically do them on the air for fun. No real violence on anyone other than the dirt.” I replied. This was sort of a lie, as we often would have full length matches at recess, often resulting in someone getting a bloody nose. However, the more dangerous moves like the ,”chair head stomp” were never done as I wasn’t completely stupid…and wasn’t sure how to get a steel chair out to recess.
“In all honesty,” I continued, “I’ve begun to feel this is getting out of hand and I’ve had a gut feeling that I should probably stop it before someone gets hurt.” I said, clearly telling them what they wanted to hear.
The vice principal smiled.
“That’s your conscience, Luke. You did right by listening to it.”
Ever grateful that my Mom wasn’t called, I proceeded on with my childhood, knowing that while I managed to not get in trouble, the jig was certainly up, and this mini-version of the WWF world that I had manifested was through.
I disbanded the “faction” that I had created, and for quite a while, found my escape in video games instead of wrestling.
I spent hours in the make belief world of Avalar, defeating Ripto and his minions with my pal Spyro the Dragon.
I spent hours in the Kanto and Johto regions making tons of friends and facing new challenges with a balanced team of Pokemon that I’d raised myself.
As an adult it’s easy to hate how much of my childhood was spent on playing video games. I mean, had I used that time to hone a different craft that I hold dear today like playing guitar or writing… who knows how good I could truly be by now?
However, I can’t blame young me. I had a lot of fun and it was a distraction from the outside noise that I didn’t care to hear. As long as the creative part of my brain was occupied, I couldn’t be bothered.
When I was 11, my Mom decided to move us away from Kentucky (albeit without telling my Dad), and I began school in Delton, MI, where I would eventually graduate High school.
Around this time, I got really into Hip Hop, and even more so once I saw the movie “8 Mile” which was released in 2002.
After that, I wanted to be the next Eminem.
For the next 8 years, you would never find me without a notepad, a folded up stack of paper, or a composition book that I would constantly be jotting an new idea in. In 6th grade, I often got my “rhyme book” taken by other classmates, looking to rib at me a bit, as I was often very protective and private about the contents.
Eventually, I just started to open up about the contents and started doing performances at the middle school talent shows. Being a performer was all I started to care about.
Fast forward to Sophomore year of Highschool, when I was playing on the drumline in the marching band (for which I’d started writing new cadences), and trying out to perform a rap song I’d written at the “Follies” which was essentially a yearly talent show.
As I finished performing “Mex Azimiz” which was a politically incorrect parody of Bow Wow’s “Fresh Azimiz”, Mrs. Barnes immediately said “Luke Hatfield, why have you not tried out for DK TAC?”
DKTAC was the highschool theater program.
“I don’t know…”
I didn’t. I’d tried playing football, in an attempt to fit in and hated it. Why didn’t this make more sense?
I went and tried out and immediately fell in love. I’d found the escape that would essentially get me through the rest of my teen years, and the one that really helped me find myself as a person.
To this day, I still find myself lost in my own imaginative world. College, years in a business sales environment, more experience with the “real world” still hasn’t managed to change the need to “escape”, except I don’t see it as escaping anymore.
I see it as creation.
I guess this is just who I am at this point.
