Strangely enough, I never really regarded my mother as an authority on what was best for me. A little less so than the average kid, I think. I made my own decisions, and if they coincided with what she told me, all the better. If not, I fell back on my devious diabolical nature to avoid confrontations. More often than not, my mom was right. My mom is, after all, an excellent mother, though misled in areas. I remember very clearly the day I realized that I was gonna have to make up my own mind about how to conduct my life.
I must have been seven.... or younger. I'm certain that I was able to walk, but I know that everyone was much bigger than me, and I still had a fascination with balloons. There was a clown, and he had a fistful of balloons. He was surrounded by kids who wanted his balloons. I wanted one too, and I asked my mom for one. She told me to go ahead and ask the clown.
I approached the clown but the crowd of kids was big and I was very small..... a good deal below average, as a matter of fact. I waited for my turn to ask for a balloon, but by the time it came, the clown had run out. I returned to my mom, who asked where my balloon was, and I explained to her that the clown didn't have enough balloons for all of us. She informed me that I should have pushed my way to the front. Had I done so, I would have gotten a balloon.
This of course thrust my young mind into an intellectual conundrum..... you see I was a sunday school kid, and at sunday school they taught me a number of things. The issue at hand was that of selflessness.... putting others before yourself. Not only that, but wasn't it my mother herself who had worked so hard at pounding manners into my brain? I was under the impression that there was no appropriate time to push, buck in line, treat people with less respect than you would require. I was shocked that my mother would tell me to push ahead just for a silly balloon.
I remember that moment of confusion. I remember standing there stunned for a moment, trying to reconcile the two conflicting concepts. My conclusion was that the balloon wasn't all that important, and that pushing would have been wrong. I decided that my mom was wrong. I wondered if it was the only thing she was wrong about, or if there were other things as well. How would I know when she was wrong? I didn't know, but I decided that before doing as she said, I'd run it by my education first.
Thus began the climate of questioning. Except that I've always been non-confrontational...... so it was more sneaky. If one of her rules was silly or irrational, I simply disobeyed. Not because I wanted to be rebellious, but simply because she was wrong. When she was right, I cooperated. I made my own decisions as to what was best for me, and my mom was a source of unsolicited and occasionally flawed advice.
I guess I turned out all right. Parents are humans. They don't always know. They're humans. This knowledge became handy as my family's problems became more and more pronounced. As the divorce took ahold of our lives, I reminded myself that my parents were people, and people are prone to selfishness, and though there was as much pain as ever, I was able forgive them faster. I remember being confused by people who kept telling me that none of it was my fault. "Of course it's not," I always thought, "They're the ones with the problems!" It wasn't till I got much older, way after the fact, that the lies about my responsibility in the matter began to enter my head. I guess Satan was trying to take advantage of my adolescent hormones.
Stupid. I'm so glad that's all done with.
I must have been seven.... or younger. I'm certain that I was able to walk, but I know that everyone was much bigger than me, and I still had a fascination with balloons. There was a clown, and he had a fistful of balloons. He was surrounded by kids who wanted his balloons. I wanted one too, and I asked my mom for one. She told me to go ahead and ask the clown.
I approached the clown but the crowd of kids was big and I was very small..... a good deal below average, as a matter of fact. I waited for my turn to ask for a balloon, but by the time it came, the clown had run out. I returned to my mom, who asked where my balloon was, and I explained to her that the clown didn't have enough balloons for all of us. She informed me that I should have pushed my way to the front. Had I done so, I would have gotten a balloon.
This of course thrust my young mind into an intellectual conundrum..... you see I was a sunday school kid, and at sunday school they taught me a number of things. The issue at hand was that of selflessness.... putting others before yourself. Not only that, but wasn't it my mother herself who had worked so hard at pounding manners into my brain? I was under the impression that there was no appropriate time to push, buck in line, treat people with less respect than you would require. I was shocked that my mother would tell me to push ahead just for a silly balloon.
I remember that moment of confusion. I remember standing there stunned for a moment, trying to reconcile the two conflicting concepts. My conclusion was that the balloon wasn't all that important, and that pushing would have been wrong. I decided that my mom was wrong. I wondered if it was the only thing she was wrong about, or if there were other things as well. How would I know when she was wrong? I didn't know, but I decided that before doing as she said, I'd run it by my education first.
Thus began the climate of questioning. Except that I've always been non-confrontational...... so it was more sneaky. If one of her rules was silly or irrational, I simply disobeyed. Not because I wanted to be rebellious, but simply because she was wrong. When she was right, I cooperated. I made my own decisions as to what was best for me, and my mom was a source of unsolicited and occasionally flawed advice.
I guess I turned out all right. Parents are humans. They don't always know. They're humans. This knowledge became handy as my family's problems became more and more pronounced. As the divorce took ahold of our lives, I reminded myself that my parents were people, and people are prone to selfishness, and though there was as much pain as ever, I was able forgive them faster. I remember being confused by people who kept telling me that none of it was my fault. "Of course it's not," I always thought, "They're the ones with the problems!" It wasn't till I got much older, way after the fact, that the lies about my responsibility in the matter began to enter my head. I guess Satan was trying to take advantage of my adolescent hormones.
Stupid. I'm so glad that's all done with.
