To give you some insight into the evening, I showed my mom some Facebook pics of high school and college friends who have, well, to put it lightly, gained a little weight. I mean, I know we all have, but it seems like a LOT of my friends from school gained a LOT of weight. Anyways, after showing her the pictures, she replied with:
“How can people let themselves go like that? Why would they choose to put pictures of themselves looking like that on Facebook?”
My response: “Um. Some people don’t realized they’ve gained that much weight. Plus, why should they hide who they are?”
*****
Tonight was…well, interesting. There was some yelling. A shit ton of crying. But nothing was accomplished. We discussed how I felt compared to my brother, why we never spoke about my adoption and ended with what I chose to do for school.
My parents insights include:
How it’s one thing to need money from parents but another to use them as a crutch. A crutch? Really? Here I am wanting to MOVE AWAY and they think I’m being a crutch. Nothing would please me more than to be financially free from them.
I’m no different from my brother. Even if I am adopted.While it is every adoptee’s dream to be regarded the same way as their biological counterpart, my parents need to realize that there are differences between me and my brother that have been there since birth. If a pickle spends it’s entire life with a sack of potatoes and is regarded as an equal by the entire potato clan, it is still a PICKLE. And that’s something that needs to be addressed. My parents actually laughed when I mentioned being adopted. And thought it was absurd I was thinking of something like that.
You always like to do the most expensive thing when it comes to school. This was after I told my dad my grad school plan. Apparently, he resents the fact that I went out of state instead of getting the HOPE scholarship. It’s not like I wanted to go to Harvard or someplace; I went to Auburn, for crying out loud!
If a pilot is flying at 3,000 feet, he knows it’s 3,000 feet to the ground. When landing, he’s not going to try and decend more than 3,000 feet. My dad tried to explain how a bank account works. Um, I get basic math. I just don’t check my balance enough, that’s all.
Try to imagine that you’re 60 and your daughter is telling you her life is horrible (for the record, I’m pretty sure I never said anything like that). Uh. I’d fucking ask her how I could help. I’d never believe that I’m responsible for her unhappiness.
A lot of babies are separated from their mothers right after they are born. What if the mother had complications or something and couldn’t see the baby right away? My mother’s response after I asked her if she thought of me the first two days of my life before I came to live with her. Perhaps she should read this: http://www.birthpsychology.com/birthscene/adoption4.html I don’t think pretending the adopted child is no different from the other children is the correct plan of action.
****
All in all, I don’t think my parents understand me or want to try to understand me. At one point, I told my parents about my above average intelligence I would THINK my parents would want to know they raised a child with a genius intellect. One comment my dad made was: Shouldn’t someone with a genius intellect know how to balance a checkbook?
I’m tired. I’m going to bed.
So what do you do?
