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Family

Today, I was lazing around watching a Brad Pitt movie – which is all I ever do at home instead of say, cooking and cleaning – when out of nowhere my mother asks, “Why didn’t you go?”
And I said, “Where?”
And she said, “To the Family Day.”
 And I said, “Do you want to go?”
And she said, “No, but why don’t you go?”
I shrugged, “Do you want to go?”
 “No.”
 “Okay then.”

One weekend when I was in my fourth grade, I came to school all by myself for a Parent-Teacher meeting certainly not to sit there and discuss how I was doing academically or socially but to play with my friends who were there with at least one parent in tow. One of the nuns suddenly called happy sweaty panting me and said, “Charmaine, why don’t your parents come to Parent-Teacher conferences?” I can’t remember what my response was but I do remember wondering if I was in any kind of trouble which at that time was not entirely uncommon. Sister Bernie assured me that I was not but added in a very concerned tone, “Charmaine, you tell your parents that if they love you, they should come for Parent-Teacher meetings.”  So off I went to relay the message to my father and mother, who both burst out laughing. My mother then asked almost dismissively, “Do you doubt how much we love you?”
And I said, “No.”
And she said, “Do we really have to go?”
And I said, “No.”
“Okay then.” 

The school though would continue to call my parents especially when I got myself into trouble. Sometimes after a visit to the principal’s office, I‘d get a dinner-table lecture about goodwill to all men. Sometimes, they’d rally behind my cause with their own twisted sense of justice.

I, for instance, never really got into any trouble for snapping back at elders which in most households was considered a disrespectful thing to do. At home, honesty was the best policy. Authority, just as leadership and credibility, was earned. It was never said that age and wisdom went hand in hand at all times. And it was clearly established that even bratty seven-year-old kids have the same right to free speech as any adult. Everything was up for discussion and in one of those discussions it was unanimously agreed that yes, living things are not limited to things that move. Yes, a plant is a living thing. Yes, it’s not going to move from one corner to another on its own. Of course, you can say so. It was agreed that it'd be a little bit obnoxious to embarrass an honest hardworking  school teacher but the team was nonetheless behind me on that one.

I did not get in trouble too for fighting for as long as it’s not with someone younger or female and my actions do not result in any permanent disability.  My father had a set of clear never-to-be-broken rules of engagement but he was on the whole okay with the idea of me being involved in occasional brawls. The general rule was that it was justifiable in self-defense or after great provocation. My mother of course preferred that I kept the collars from being torn off my blouse but if it could not be helped, it could not be helped.

Way back in the '80s when physical punishment was still an acceptable and common form of correcting misbehavior and instilling positive values, my parents sat me down and told me, “Charmaine, you must not let anyone hit you. Not even your teachers. Not even us.” So all throughout grade school, I’d tell my teachers that my parents said that I should not be hit, spanked or slapped in any part of my body because that teaches a child that violence is sometimes justifiable and it never is.  (Unless in self-defense.)  Needless to say, I was a nightmare. (Once though, I did get spanked with a broomstick in the butt.  I let my sixth grade teacher swing the wooden stick right to my tushy but that was mainly because I was beginning to feel left out.)

My parents did not care about ranking well in school but if I could do better and didn’t, I was certainly told – not always gently.  So here I am a constant disappointment to myself because everything could be better and better and better and it just has to be.

Now, 20 years later, my mother sometimes looks at me with such belligerence as though she was battling with a monster she had created.  And because I am in fact a monster, I snap back and say, “This is all your fault you know.”  She moves from angry to seething but I really do mean that in the best possible way.

Today was family day at work and truth be told, I really wanted to go. Not for the fun and games because I’m not really into that kind of stuff and neither is my mom.  But family days in whatever size and shapes are nice. Families in whatever size and shape are nice.  Mine is kinda nice. Funny at best, indifferent on occasion, combative in general but nonetheless nice. 

To my family, I cannot promise to cook and clean because as you know I am a nightmare. But I want you to know that I intend on behaving like a difficult seven-year-old brat for the rest of my life. I promise with all my heart to be bitchier with every passing day.  Not even your worst nightmare will get me. I promise not to ask for a pony, a hallmark card or any of those chummy gestures of love. I’ll torment the boys for those.  With you, I promise to be just as sure as I am standing here. Father, this is especially for you: I promise to whack people who hit me…first. No need to do it yourself because hell, under the circumstances that would just freak them out of their minds. Mother, for you: I promise to never let any sound drown out my voice, which very regrettably sounds more and more like yours everyday. Finally I promise to let this constant disappointment define my life so that one day I will die with something better than good. 

Because parents across the universe are all the same.  They nag us about a million different things every day.  They will require that we make them proud.  They will require that we extend goodwill to all men.  But they really only ask one thing as we get ready to leave home for what they already know to be a mad world and there is only one response that’ll work.

Mommy and Daddy, life with all its the possibilities of being alone, silenced, overpowered and hurt, doesn’t scare me. And because it is in selflessness that family finds it grandest moment, that is enough.