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Parents: An Anthology In Incidents

I’ll be the first to admit it, parents can be absurd at times, and don’t pull the “They are your parents!” self-righteousness card because it is what it is. Them being my parents is exactly what gives me the power to say so, parents are absurd. They do the most outrageous things and then have the gall to look at us and blame us. “How dare you run outside the compound?!” (Forgets that they were the ones who told me to go out and “breathe the fresh air”, should have specified the distance.)

Sometimes they frustrate me to no end but staying an ocean apart now gives me the safe distance to laugh about it though living through it at the time did make me want to pull my hair out in sheer annoyance. Living an ocean apart also makes me miss them and the things that they do. It’s an odd experience when we as children grow into adults, there is a transition that occurs where it goes from them worrying about us to us worrying about them. A full cycle truly.

Sure, they still do worry over us but somewhere they know that we can survive on our own, that they succeeded in keeping us alive – a hard task that apparently according to my parents. Mine danced around in circles when I left home. But this is not about them, it’s about my pain and suffering while babysitting them, it may be hard to be a parent but what about being a child? Have you ever thought about the pains of being a child? This is our story.

 

The Door Drama

We have a history of obsession with doors in our family for no particular reason, just that we do. You’d think that the sole purpose of a door is to simply open and close it, yet somehow my family manages to make it into some sort of symbolism for panic, anxiety, and paranoia. It’s a talent. You may find it hard to believe but I can tell you a few stories showcasing this obsession.

Door Round 1 – Mom

I take time to get dressed (this will come up again later) so the last few moments of getting ready to leave for work always take a panicky turn at the end where I am a hurricane of panic and worry.

So, on one such day there I was panicking to get out the door and my mum chose that exact moment to start malfunctioning. To give you a better context of this situation we, first of all, have a very complex door situation, we have two doors to go to the outer area and one more large metal door from an ancient era to get out of the building, so in total three doors (this will also come up later).

Now, the first door for some reason has a lock on it that Thor must have designed to withstand his hammer, it also locks and opens backward because, why not?!

On that particular day, my mom decided to spin the key every which way and took 10 years to open it, then frolicked through the second door and slammed it shut on me before I could get out and when we reached work she stood for a whole minute struggling to push open a door that said PULL.

I’ll admit it freely, I saw the PULL sign but I am a horrible person so it did give me some sort of sadistic pleasure to see her try to PUSH it open. Don’t judge me, I had just gotten a door slammed in my face! I deserve this tiny revenge.

Door Round 2 – Dad

My dad has issues, I’ll freely admit that too, the man can get suspicious of oxygen for being too “oxygeny”. Simply put he is paranoid. A robber broke in once and his response was to install so many doors that in case of an emergency, we’d have better luck getting out the toilet vent.

I remember asking him once, “Dad, what if I want to pee urgently when I get home?”

His response was, “Pee before and come.”

Yes, folks, a woman can no longer pee in her own house.

I feel as though my dad does not see me as a 26-year-old woman, he sees me running around as a perpetual 5-year-old with chocolate all over my face. Till now he tells me to not get in a car with strangers.

His obsession with doors is the best one though, whenever I call him, these phrases will always be there:

Don’t open the door for someone else.

Don’t open the door for the neighbors when you are alone.

Don’t open the door for me without checking it’s me. (0-o)

Just don’t the door.

At some point, they just started becoming weird. Once he randomly got up at 2 am to check if I was opening the door, I was – to the bathroom!

 

The Time Obsession – Mom and Dad  

My mother and father react very differently to the concept of time but the funny thing is I can never determine what the reaction is going to be at that point in time. It depends on the situation you see and their mood.

Round 1 – Mom

My mother is a very tiny woman but for all her size she can be very scary, don’t trust her innocent and kind demeanour. This is best represented in her when she is running late for work. She’ll make this weird hissing noise which makes you worry if she’ll stab you out of sheer frustration and then comes the truly scary part, she’ll start wringing her hands, my brother says it’s because of anxiety or panic but I think that’s her way of holding herself back from committing murder.

The funny thing is, we are never actually late! We are always 45 minutes early but apparently, she wants to maintain that 45 minutes early time buffer. I once made the mistake of asking her why, and her response was, “There are no people there at that time,” further convincing me that she hides bodies during her spare time.

Moms are scary.

Round 2 – Dad

Dad’s behaviour is the weirdest in my opinion when it comes to time. His being so particular about everything else has always led me to believe that time is another thing he would obsess over but he surprised me.

He waits patiently. Every single time.

Maybe it’s a dad thing or maybe it’s just him being paranoid. But he always waits, sure he’ll call me a million times to check on me, but he always waits.

I remember once I was caught up at work and was really late, I could hear my dad calling me multiple times, but I was scared to answer it because I thought he’d yell at me. Sheepishly I made my way toward the car and the only thing he asked me was whether I had managed to get everything done.

Another time he waited for hours while I was at the salon because according to him some random human could kidnap me as I was coming out.

For all his growling, the man is a jellybean.

 

Growing Up 

Growing up sucks, you learn a lot so that makes half the stuff you believed in disappear into thin air because you understand that life does not work that way. You stop believing in many of your fantasies like clouds being made up of marshmallows, the Predator coming to your planet and marrying you, dinosaurs for pets, and the fact that our parents are perfect.

The last one was the hardest, as a kid you emulate your parents a lot and that’s great because they are your primary caregiver but as I grew, I understood that even if they have flaws, and ok too because they are humans and just because they have lived longer than us doesn’t mean they have to be perfect at everything.

This made me angry and frustrated initially, recognizing the fact that my parents weren’t what I had built up in my mind:

Why aren’t they listening to me?

Why aren’t they paying attention to me?

Why can’t I go?

Why can’t I do this?

Why? Why? Why?

It took me years to understand that there’s a lot they put up with and a lot they went through behind the scenes for us. There were days I’d watch my mother lose sleep wringing her hands in worry over me and my brother. A lot of nights where both of them were up in the middle of the night praying so life would be easier for us.

I thought it was all their fantasy, that this time they were believing in something that does not exist.

When I was getting ready to leave the airport, I realized something, I was not ready to start the next phase of my life. I thought I wasn’t ready but looking at them and the amount of belief they had in everything, it didn’t take me much to believe in it too.

Sure, my parents may frustrate me but most of the time it’s because they are almost right, but they have improved over the years, mostly because of my patient tutelage – what with me being an amazing daughter after all. Glad there’s an ocean between me and my mother as she reads this.

Yes, mother, you are right, I shouldn’t have filled the pot with water entirely.

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