"Mother is the name for God on the lips and hearts of all children."
The worst thing about growing up, and I, at 25, can't even half pretend I'm halfway there, is realizing that your parents
aren't infallible. I was never an incredibly disrespectful child, I always, even at the height of my teenage "rebellion" phase, admitted to myself that my mother knew a lot more than I did. That's why, first of all, my teenage rebellion phase didn't really exist and, second of all, why I've been so upset since I found out how little "a lot" actually is.
I've spent the majority of my life believing that my parents are not only judge, jury and executioner but also Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and well, the more approachable version of God. They were people whose approval I wanted every bit as much as I wanted their love. I needed their guidance and their support. I needed everything they had to give me and then, like every other child in the world, I still needed more.
My parents had, up to about five years ago, lived through everything I had lived there. They had been through school. They had experienced loneliness and isolation. They had had fights with their friends. They'd had crushes and lectures from teachers. They had arguments with teachers and other lower authority figures. In some cases they had done more. I've never been in trouble with anyone but a few teachers and my parents. My parents, as teenagers, had been in trouble with the police.
They've had speeding tickets and parking tickets. They've experienced what work is like when your co-workers don't like you and how that's a different sort of misery then when your boss or supervisor doesn't like you. My parents knew all the answers because, from the seat of wisdom of being alive longer than I, they had done it all and knew that the sun would rise tomorrow and you'd probably still be miserable and hate your job or your best friend would still be upset with you but eventually the sun would rise on a new job or your best friend's smile and life would go on.
They were, to me, as infallible as the God I don't believe in.
Then a few years back I finally aged into the adult club and found out that my parents were human beings. And not just my parents but my aunts, uncles and grandparents... all human! The hierarchy of age that every sibling set creates and the modern school system enforces is a lie. Just because someone is older than you doesn't mean they know the answers. In fact, sometimes it just means that they're more confused than you.
Earlier last year, in an attempt to hurry my dad off the phone I hate talking on the phone. I don't care who calls me, I always try to rush the conversation. I told him that I loved him and was proud of him. He made this strange sound through the phone and it took me a minute to realize that he was crying. My father was so deeply touched by the fact that I was proud of him that he was crying. In my entire life, I have never seen my father cry.
It was as though my father had, with a few tears, taken a step off the cloud I placed every authority figure from my childhood on, and fallen into the muck of humanity and seeking approval right next to me.
I have to say, I didn't like it. I liked it when I thought my parents were all knowing. I liked it when my older sister was an authority figure. I liked having one person to turn to when things go wrong. I liked knowing that my problems could be fixed by one person.
Now, whenever I have a problem, I can't just go to Mom or Dad or my sister. I have to turn to this mass of people to fix one problem. I have to find first, someone who understands the problem. Then, I have to find someone that understands how I feel about the problem. Sadly enough, these two people are rarely the same person. After that, I have to troubleshoot the issue and, most times, go to someone that understands the circumstances that caused the problem and ask them for advice. Only rarely is this someone that I've talked to already. After all that, I still have to fix it!
It's no longer, "Mommy my feelings are hurt!" and she hugs me and then my sister checks under the bed for monsters and everything, while not fine and fixed, is better and less scary. Now it's... I had a problem at work and because of my job that can be a lot of different things so I have to find, first of all, someone I trust that works in the same field I do so they'll understand the exact stresses I work to tell the problem to and they can then tell me a story of how they screwed up worse way back when and it'll be okay. Then I go and find my boyfriend because he's less emotional than my sister and tell him the problem so he can make my all consuming desire to cry go away. After talking to people I know have to go off and find someone else that works in the same field I do, and preferably in the same company, who I can go to for advice on which methodology of troubleshooting would best solve this problem. At some point I have to talk to my supervisor.
Then, like all problems, the problem hasn't gone away but now I can laugh about it.
Parents aren't infallible but I still want to make mine proud of me. And the most upsetting thing in the world of my life as a young adult is knowing that they want to make me proud also.
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