Runaway
I fought a lot with my parents when I was growing up, mostly because they were very restrictive, and I was very argumentative. They would decide that I couldn't do something (like listen to the pop radio, go to a movie, go to a dance, go to a party with friends, etc.) I would come up with all sorts of brilliant arguments about why I should be able to, and they would either ignore them, chuckle, or loose patience and get angry.
When I was younger, my big wild card was threatening to go live with my grandmother. My parents never really took it seriously, but I usually ended up in my grandmother's kitchen complaining about my parents.
My grandmother was very good at being in the middle of things. She listened to my complaints, no matter how ridiculous, and pointed out where I was overlooking something, or where I needed to let up, or how my parents had their own issues going on. And she would defend me to my parents.
As recently as two years ago, my grandmother was trying to patch things up between me and my mother after we had a fight. Wilma had dyed her hair blue, and my mother freaked. It was just before my cousin's wedding, so the whole family, and probably the whole church would be introduced to my wife as the freak with the blue hair.
In fact, I clearly remember somebody preaching from the pulpit that dyed hair was a symbol of rebellion a year or so before this.
I wonder how the little old ladies with unrealistic brown or black hair felt about that...
Anyway, my grandmother talked her down, till she was at least ok with the possibility. At the wedding, my relatives poked fun at Wilma for her hair, and she poked back, all in fun. And my mother was ok by the end.
My grandmother, meanwhile, tried to explain defended my mother's reaction to me, explaining that she was just concerned about what other people would think, and that she just didn't understand why someone would want to do that to themselves. My mother is always makeup free, dye free, perfume free, earring free, and almost accessory free. But despite her aesthetic, my mother had agreed to accept Wilma's hair, just not like it. My grandmother explained that I needed to give her time to accept these sorts of things. That it took my mother a while to adjust.
I wasn't the only one. My cousins all ran to my grandmother too. They complained about the fights with their parents, or their siblings (my brother and I just fought it out, no need for intervention there...) She was at once, the concilerie and the boss of our family.
When I was younger, my big wild card was threatening to go live with my grandmother. My parents never really took it seriously, but I usually ended up in my grandmother's kitchen complaining about my parents.
My grandmother was very good at being in the middle of things. She listened to my complaints, no matter how ridiculous, and pointed out where I was overlooking something, or where I needed to let up, or how my parents had their own issues going on. And she would defend me to my parents.
As recently as two years ago, my grandmother was trying to patch things up between me and my mother after we had a fight. Wilma had dyed her hair blue, and my mother freaked. It was just before my cousin's wedding, so the whole family, and probably the whole church would be introduced to my wife as the freak with the blue hair.
In fact, I clearly remember somebody preaching from the pulpit that dyed hair was a symbol of rebellion a year or so before this.
I wonder how the little old ladies with unrealistic brown or black hair felt about that...
Anyway, my grandmother talked her down, till she was at least ok with the possibility. At the wedding, my relatives poked fun at Wilma for her hair, and she poked back, all in fun. And my mother was ok by the end.
My grandmother, meanwhile, tried to explain defended my mother's reaction to me, explaining that she was just concerned about what other people would think, and that she just didn't understand why someone would want to do that to themselves. My mother is always makeup free, dye free, perfume free, earring free, and almost accessory free. But despite her aesthetic, my mother had agreed to accept Wilma's hair, just not like it. My grandmother explained that I needed to give her time to accept these sorts of things. That it took my mother a while to adjust.
I wasn't the only one. My cousins all ran to my grandmother too. They complained about the fights with their parents, or their siblings (my brother and I just fought it out, no need for intervention there...) She was at once, the concilerie and the boss of our family.
posted by deadwriter at 8:33 a.m.
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