I’m sure that there are worse parents out there than mine, but I’m sure that there are many better ones too. Many of the people I know don’t want to grow up yet. They don’t want to leave home and become an adult… They don’t want to have to go to college and not have anyone to rely on. Sometimes, when a person can’t wait to get out of the house, go to college, and get a job and leave their family, something is wrong.
From the outside, my family looks happy. We’re well accustomed to the farce of a nice, polite, and happy family and we each have our own masks that are shown to the public. It would take a look from the inside to get the sense that anything is wrong. We’ve crafted it carefully; paying mind to social expectations and ideas. Of course, due to our hidden unhappiness, this farce was crafted gradually and individually. We never worked together. However, you could never see into our hearts; we hid them too carefully.
When I was in elementary school, my parents were great people. They made it clear and obvious that they loved me. They were good parents. They encouraged good grades without using extreme measures; I was a straight A student. They were nice; they almost never hit me (except for the occasional spanking that, I admit, was well deserved). They also rarely fought. They did fight, but then again, doesn’t everyone? Then, my brother was born. I love him, but like most people, I found this younger sibling of mine annoying. He always cried, whined, screamed… He made sleep impossible. Of course, he didn’t make sleep impossible forever, as he grew older he allowed us to have more sleep. I wish I could blame him for the start of the problems. That would be true to some extent, he can’t remember the time where there was no conflict within the house, but it wouldn’t be fair to blame him. However, nowadays, he has become spoiled and callous, unwilling to take no as an answer and being perfectly accustomed to the fights; not noticing or caring that they are happening. Now, he adds to the conflicts. Our parents always oblige to his wishes, thinking it easier to give in then to fight him, and then continue with the arguments.
Then middle school. I went to a new school with a larger and older campus. I was a private school that I was very lucky to be able to go to. However, although the school I went to became better, the status at home gradually worsened. The fights between my parents became more frequent and violent. Things were thrown and broken, tables were overturned, blankets were shredded… Everything just began going downhill. I gradually got involved in the fights as well. I wish I could say that I was intelligent and simply stayed out, but I wanted things to end faster, so I took sides, thinking that I could make the fight shorter and fix it all. That never happened. In fact, as one might expect, the interventions made the fights worse. Typically, I sided with my dad; I spent more time with him and preferred him over my mom. My little brother, once he got old enough, sided with my mom, liking her more due to the fact that she spoiled him. Of course, my mom disliked that I sided with my dad and started fighting with me more than she did my dad. By the end of middle school, my mom fought with me more than my dad. ‘Fought’ would probably be the wrong word. ‘Screamed’ fits much better. Don’t we all love being screamed at by our moms for no reason what so ever the minute we return from school… Isn’t it great?
The result of these arguments was that the once close relationship between my parents and I evaporated. My mom screamed at me for no reason and my dad screamed at me because my mom was and he didn’t see my point of attempting to get the two to stop fighting. So, I built a wall. My original thoughts were that if I treat my parents the way they treat me, they’ll either stop or realize what they’re doing wrong and change. Thus, I screamed back, becoming the stereotypical rebellious teen. Finally, they realized. Did they try to change? No. They tried to change me by yelling at me more. They also began the beatings. Most involved a spank or a slap, but there were also times when they evolved into full out beatings with fists. I never fought back. This seems unlikely, but would you feel comfortable hitting your parents? Even if they did the same to you? The hitting sessions have waned recently… I suppose because my parents are getting older and because school has started...
Recently, I’ve realized that the reason my parents (mostly my mom…) and I don’t get along well is because of me. It’s my fault. I’m the one who built the wall between us. I’m the one who started it all. I’m the one now who acts out, who yells, who treats my parents (actually, this applies only to my mom) like shit… In my defense (kind of), I wanted my parents to fix everything and my mom really is terrible, but the problems now really were all caused by me and I basically have no defense in them. I’ve been gradually trying to break down the wall by fixing my behavior, but it’s too late. My mom no longer listens; she screams or lashes immediately every time I wish to speak… She’s changed to adjust to the way I’ve changed and now, neither of us can change back to our original selves and we can’t go back to the time where we were all happy. It’s much too late.
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