As far back as I can remember my parents have always had their hold on me. Not just any kind of hold, more like a Vulcan Death Grip. They were a strict pair always too involved in my business often suffocating me. Briefly think of the happiest place on earth. You’ve got people laughing so hard, they’re tearing up. No one is ever mad at each other, it is always sunny, and the good times never end. My life was nothing like that. Not even close.
I could never really do anything I wanted or get what I wanted. I vividly remember shopping for shoes as a child. Payless was the place to be back then, and it was quite a trip. Looking at all the shoes, I was flabbergasted. As a much protected child, I would assume that it was the same feeling as the saying ‘kid in a candy store.’ After drooling over the long isles of shoes, my parents ask me which one I want. In my hands are these cute sneakers, with red lining, tiny cut-out flowers and a rabbit on the heel. With my eyes beaming with happiness, and my body jumping up and down, my parents express signs of doubt. “It’s not the right size for you,” or “The material isn’t sturdy enough,” and more often then not, “The shape doesn’t suite you. Find something more appropriate.” At a bobbing age of 5, how could these insanely adorable shoes not be appropriate? Should I be wearing high heels and a business suit? I was baffled, and did what any mature appropriate 5 year old would do - throw the most ferocious tantrum. Shoes were flying, my battle cry wailed throughout the store. The other kids were shaking in fear of me, I could smell it. My parents though? They got “that look.” The look that meant, “You’re safe now, but as soon as we get home, you get to see OUR tantrum.” Ultimately, on the ride home, I knew what was coming. I kept staring at those ugly constricting, corrective shoes, thinking about how much I hate my parents with all my might.
And, as if they hadn’t made my life a living hell already, I’m sure they were dedicated to making my high school life equally bad, if not more. I never could take place in any fun activities, like dances or outings. I just stayed home – sitting. Mostly by choice, but that’s because I was tired of hearing the word “No,” or having my phone ring like a sex hotline while I was out with my friends. There is one thing I decided I’d do: senior prom; however, everything about prom was really a bust. Everyone was excited with the very thought of our senior prom because this would be the last time that we would be able to play the wonderful game of, “I’m Prettier Than You.” It was the dance to end all dances. I finally got the okay to go under the stipulation of a curfew – 12AM. What astounding moments could possibly even transpire within a time restraint such as that?!
Upset at the time issue, I decided I’d alleviate myself with some well overdue shopping. The highly coveted journey to find the perfect dress was one thing I was glad to have my parents agree to. Finding a very eloquent dress at the mall this time of year was really difficult, and having your highly critical mother with you makes your choices even worse. Backless? “It makes you look like a whore.” Strapless? “Makes you look like a whore.” Let’s find another. Straight jacket? “I LIKE IT!” Honestly, at this point, I was 18. I’m on my way to becoming a full-fledged adult, yet I am still held back by something as trivial as clothing?! While it was an amazing night, regardless of how limited it was, it will always remind me of how much better I have it now.
Those miniscule, petty experiences became distant milestones in my life. The journey between being held down and becoming a free-roaming adult was an arduous undertaking, but the path has been traveled. I can proudly say I walk my own path, regardless of how narrow my parents made the trail. As I walk into the house with my cute, new $50 dollar pair of shoes, reminiscent of the flowers and red lining from my childhood, I await to combat my parent’s smart remarks with my very own witty and snide comments. I think they did a great job in raising me.
my new friend...
No comments:
Post a Comment