Sunday, April 09, 2006
Damaged goods
It seems like I slept for 10 hours between a nap yesterday afternoon and going to bed at 9:30 last night; I feel pretty rested, thankfully. I was lying awake, debating about whether or not I should get up (you know that hesitancy you feel on a day off), and started ruminating about teenage angst.
I didn't have the same type of angst most teens feel; I pretty much left home at 15, working as a car hop at Whataburger and going to high school, living with an older single mother coworker from Whataburger and trying survive to adulthood, basically.
I hear, watch TV. and read about the intensity of high school, the pressure to fit in, be in the right social clubs, go to the right parties, have the right accessories (cell phone, laptop), and I just want to SCREAM to these intense, vulnerable kids that IT DOESN'T MATTER. I don't know a living soul today from high school. I could probably pass a fellow graduate on the street and not recognize him/her. I do know that some friendships last much longer ~ a lifetime ~ but those are the exception, not the norm. My daughter was always so easily influenced by what others said, thought, did...I think she probably stuck to some of her core values for the most part, but I never was successful in trying to convince her that what other people think doesn't matter.
I couldn't forge friendships.. I couldn't have kids over, and I didn't encourage anybody to call me on the phone. I never knew what I would find when I entered the house in the afternoon, even from elementary school; mom might be nice drunk, mom might be mean drunk, or mom might be passed out completely. I remember vividly one Saturday afternoon, I was 15 and still at home. I spent the entire day with a guy I admired a lot, who surprisingly apparently liked me as well; we had gone to a movie, visited the park downtown, walked, and talked about everything. It was a real connection, and a memorable day. He walked me to the door of our home. I didn't invite him in, came up with some excuse by rote, but watched him from the livingroom window as he walked down the street. The house was eerily quiet, except for some dripping water. I headed toward the kitchen to investigate. I found mom passed out in a chair at the kitchen table, her face in a plate of food; she stunk. I didn't have to get too close to see that she had defecated and urinated on herself, the urine dripping from the ends of her soaked and soiled nylon nightie.
Almost 40 years later, I can see her; thankfully, I can no longer smell her.
I wonder if I failed as a mother because of my own inability to be empathetic to my daughter's seemingly unimportant high school skirmishes and relationship crises? Have I, as damaged goods, begat another generation of damaged goods?
Posted JDaaris @
8:36 AM ::
3 chocolate drops
Gimme some chocolate!
Counters
