08 October 2009

Wicked Child

My mother has always been fond of telling all and sundry that when I turned thirteen, I became someone she didn't know. During this past trip, she went one step further and pontificated to my husband that "boys are easier to raise than girls." In front of me, yet.


First of all, it's called puberty. Everyone goes through it, and everyone becomes a hormonally-challenged snot. And everyone (usually) comes through to the other side intact. It's something you sign up for when you become a parent. Deal with it.

And secondly, even with the raging hormones, I didn't drink, didn't do drugs, and didn't run around. I got straight A's, was a member of the National Honor Society, was a National Merit scholar, and eventually graduated with honors from a small, prestigious college. I spent years trying to please my parents and be a model daughter.

Yet all she could say was that I was "difficult."

Well, ya know what? Doormats exist only to be stepped on, and I'm tired of it. In the past few years I've learned to recognize abuse for what it is, and stand up for myself. Clearly that rocks my parents' well-ordered world; it shocks and enrages them that I will not roll over and accept the role of meek, submissive (i.e., doormat) daughter any more.

If that makes me a wicked child, so be it. After forty-some-odd years I've finally decided that I like myself for who I am, and that there's more to life than pleasing people for whom my best will never be good enough. And my parents have shown that they cannot - and will not - be pleased. Instead of acknowledging that they may have hurt someone else's feelings and apologizing (like rational adults), they expect me to come groveling back and apologize *to them* for standing up for myself and my husband.

Well, I'm done. And I'm done feeling sorry for myself. I have a husband, friends, and co-workers who love and respect me for who I am. If my own family cannot do the same, it's their loss - not mine.


Nancy J. Parra said...

You go!! *much applause*