I came across this article from Slate.com awhile ago and have been meaning to comment on it. Today seemed providential in more than one sense. I had a whole day of nothing doings scheduled - no teaching, no driving, not even chores because I was pretty productive this past week, thanks to the lifting of my 2+ months depression. It would be great. However, like all great things, there is always a little something that can sour the mood.
I live at home with my parents. They are ok with it, and usually I am too. Of course it's not the ideal situation (what is?) but there are positive, practical advantages for both sides. My parents, never really good at English or the social and cultural construct of American life, need a certain type of help with going about daily life. Of recent years, their senior moments have bordered on freaking me out too, so it's helpful for them to have someone on hand to, say, OPEN THE BATHROOM DOOR FOR THEM WHEN THEY LOCK THEMSELVES IN. No joke, Alzheimer's is eminent and at the forefront of various different health issues my parents are facing.
The advantages for me are pretty obvious too. I can save or invest the money I would have otherwise spent on rent and other living costs. I don't have to deal with incompatible roommates and the world of drama that creates. And even though my current roommates can have their annoying habits too, they are easier to forgive because I can do the same to them and not fear a house blow-up involving wasabi peas, passive aggressive notes/door slamming, and the harm of innocent house pet by-standers.
Now moving on to how this is relevant to the article linked above. I know for a fact one of my habits that is most annoying to my parents is my tendency to be a home-body. I prefer eating in than eating out, counting take-out. I prefer watching movies at home in my pajamas with snacks that I actually like rather than wait in the lines, sit in a stale movie theater and munch on even staler popcorn. This isn't to say I don't like going out either; I would pick going out with friends over curling up in bed and re-reading the Harry Potter series for the nth time any day. However, there is this great and difficult hurdle called DISTANCE standing between me and the people I like to go out on the town with, so until the logistics of flights and visits are arranged, chatting with them online or on the phone will have to do. Needless to say, this chatting happens in the comfort of my own home.
I know my parents find this annoying because I overheard them recently (well, technically only my mother because she is loud; my dad is more soft-spoken) discussing how it isn't normal, or healthy to stay in as much as I do. How most girls my age are getting boyfriends and getting married (note: statistics show this isn't necessarily true, depending on geographical areas, by the way). Because going out and getting drunk off my rocker every night is healthy? Because half the married women my age will end up divorced within five years, I wanted to retort, but didn't. I would have before, in another incarnation, but I've hopefully grown out of that and into something more mature that takes things in stride. Disclaimer: I have nothing against marriage. Really.
The point is, there is health and normalcy, not to mention fun, to be had at home too. How often have I walked into an after-school program at 5pm to teach art to kids who are grumpy and ready to go home three hours ago? How often have I arrived on school campus at 7am with students lined up outside my classroom, waiting to be let in? And there's currently a (political) movement lobbying for longer school days! Dude, I can't even comment on that right now, it deserves it's own stand-alone rant.
There is only one section near the end of this article I highly don't agree with. The writer interviews his friend and out pops this golden quote:
Fertile neglect is the name of that policy: leaving the boy to his own devices so I can pursue mine and he can develop those solitary skills that will serve him in future airports, waiting rooms and prisons. It came about simply because I found actual down-at-his-level waving-tiny-figurines PLAYING to be, for some reason, soul-destroying—the arbitrary despotic movements of the child-mind and all that. Bonus side effect: when you do consent, in moments of magnanimity, to lower yourself to their play-level they are incredibly grateful. ...
Awesome. This kid's dad is too cheapskate to even take him to the park for an ice cream sandwich AND too full of himself to even give his son attention when they are at home. "Mr. James-doesn't-play-with-his-son," you are so fired in my parent book.
At lunch time today, my dad bribed me to go on an errand just to get me out of the house. He seemed shocked that I could run it so quickly. That pretend-shock lasted throughout the afternoon and it became quite burdensome to have him comment, "Wait, you're still here? I thought you went out" every half hour. He eventually gave up, whereas if my mother had been doing it she would have been after me until I RAN out of the house if only to escape her nagging. Because my dad is a home-body at heart too.
No comments:
Post a Comment