I was a lousy kid

April 11, 2007 at 6:44 PM (Uncategorized) ()

Because…there were *many* good ideas given to me by my maternal parent that I just couldn’t abide.

Even when they were good ideas. Which far too many of them were.

Like exersize. Or finding a job in a library. Or keeping lists.

I just couldn’t accept them.

I’d rather read, catch a job where I could, read, and avoid list items and read.

Reading, of course, pays no bills.

I can tell the exact day hour and moment that she and I became a bit more adversarial even than most mothers and daughters.

Was it the time she stood on her head in front of the Christmas Tree, just as she was about to meet my high school friends?

Was it the first time she attacked my face with a metal instrument and cleanser to eradicate acne?

Was it the first task list she gave me?

Was it the first time she bounced into my bedroom with more cheer than the law should allow and asked me “how I want my eggs,” when all I wanted was to hibernate and sleep?

Was it the first diet she put me on? (Age six. Cottage cheese. No lie.)

Was it…? (Well no, I can’t discuss that one. That one will have to wait a while)

No. It wasn’t any of the above.

It was this.

I was seven years old.

I sang in a concert (The tiniest Maria ever to sing the “Sound of Music” songs.), and was taken to a party that night in a grownup restauraunt and made much of.

The next day, I went to school and had a field trip to someplace called “The Supplementary Center,” a kind of game/exhibit/puzzle center for kids that allowed “play” all afternoon because it had an educational bent.

The next morning I dragged, sulked and feigned illness, and my mother had my number right away. Looking back I also gather that she must have been under some serious strain about some adult thing that I didn’t understand yet.

She towered above me in the doorway to my bedroom and raised her voice considerably, although it wasn’t, quite, a shout, “You’re *going* to school because one cannot go Singing and Supplementary Centering one’s way through *life!*

I remember. I’m looking up at her, completely terrified…and yet defiant.

I thought: “Wanna Make A Bet?”

And from that moment, fiction was better than reality, reading, languages, music and singing were better than math, getting around to doing something on *my* timetable was better than hard deadlines, sloppy comfort took precedence over a neat linear attempt at perfection…

During my early twenties she astonished me one afternoon by saying she was jealous of me.

I’m thinking:

Me Her

Overweight The Compleat Knockout

Disabled Not just able bodied Insanely fit, georgeous.

Jobless A computer programmer.

No boyfriend Steady dates on a steady basis.

My hard drive nearly crashed trying to understand how in the name of all that’s interesting could she be jealous of me.

She said that she wished she could connect with people, make friends the way she thought I managed at the time.

I was all, “Well just start *talking* to people…” while being annoyed that she genuinely had the perception that people skills made her the lesser light (in her own head) and me the recipient of blessings uncounted.

So yes, I was a lousy kid.

I didn’t exersize enough

I wouldn’t wear a wig during chemo

And I was and am imperfect.

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