What, exactly, do the Sex Pistols mean to you?”

My high school music teacher glares down at me as she shakes her head. My backpack, emblazoned with the logo of the late-’70s punk band, has apparently caused a stir in my small-town, conservative high school.

This time, instead of rolling her eyes at the honor student trying to rebel, a teacher has actually taken it upon herself to call me out on my musical choice. Well, on my choice, that is. She denies punk is actually music.

Sparing you the tirade I unleashed on her, believe me when I say I have had to defend my musical choices a lot. I was a middle school kid into metal when the Columbine school shooting happened, perpetrated by two teens who loved many of the same bands I did.

A few years later, I had moved on to Eminem shortly before he made headlines for allegedly supporting violence against women.

I’m not the only one.

A friend of mine recently lamented job interviews not because the competition was too hard, but because he didn’t know what to say when asked what kind of music he liked.

Could he still be taken seriously for the business-suit required jobs he was applying for when he told them he liked heavy metal bands like Cannibal Corpse and Megadeth?

It is not unusual to see articles connecting music and violence, or music and hatred towards women. In September 2007, The New York Times ran a lengthy piece on police from all over the nation equating youth violence with their music choices.

And I’m sure we all remember each of the tragic episodes of school shooting that quickly dissolved into discussions of music choice instead of school cliques and bullying.

Picking out specific bad examples is not only easy – it’s popular. No one ever really wants to find the successful, well-adjusted followers of the musical pariahs.

My music teacher eventually gave up trying to convince me that gospel hymns would make me more successful than the Dead Kennedy when I graduated first in my class.

I still think about her from time to time when I’m driving into my parking deck. Earlier this week, when I rolled my window down to scan my entry card, the Misfits’ “Last Caress” boomed, with the opening lyrics “I got something to say/I killed a baby today.”

I’m pretty sure that teller had some disturbing thoughts about me. Like my music teacher, she’s in a unique position to employ these music taboos, if she does.

She can hear my baby killing punk and not realize I am a loving godmother to a precious toddler and her soon-to-be-born sibling.

She could hear my rapper friend practicing his next record and never know he is one of the most respectful, thoughtful men I know.

She could even hear the screaming vocals drowned out by heavy guitars of my metalhead pal, picturing an angry youth mad at the world. Really, he’s a loving “daddy” to two spoiled, precious puppies.

Are you a misogynist if you listen to rap? Not necessarily. You could just enjoy the beat or flow.

Does death metal make you morbid? Could just be into guitar solos.

In the case of my current favorite Misfits, I don’t listen for the lyrics, which are reminiscent of a 1960s horror film. I listen because no one has a voice like Glenn Danzig, their original lead singer. He could sing anything, and I’d listen.

It is obvious that people listen to music because it speaks to a part of them. That doesn’t mean our music is a definition of who we are. Don’t expect everyone to fit into a category just because their music does.

- Stephanie Jackson is a senior from Birmingham, Ala., majoring in newspapers and English.