Memories. They’re funny things, aren’t they? For me at least, I don’t actually have many memories at all, and they tend to be pretty vague. And the things I’d rather forget, well, they tend to be the ones that linger and crop at the most random times – like today at the BK drive thru.
I guess by now it’s obvious my relationship with the parentals is uneasy. I’m sure it will ease as I get older. For now, I still get flashbacks to certain things, like being called (not quite in so many words, she couldn’t quite bring herself to say “prostitute”) a prostitute for hugging my (x)BF in public. Or being chastised for choosing photography as a subject “what will you do when he dumps you, eh?” Or in an effort to get me away from perceived bad influences and sort me out, suggesting a trip to the Gold Coast (which never materialised, incidentally) – “but can you be away from a boy for a day?” You might think this implied I was boycrazy but no, this referred to x(BF), whose name would not be uttered in the house. Yes, that’s how crazy my parents were, and how little they thought of me – I still cannot believe she thought that, oh, I don’t know, I might combust or have a breakdown or something should I be parted from him for longer than 24 hours. Sure, we spent pretty much everyday together. But why not? What do school age couples do? If we had been unable to for whatever reason, then we wouldn’t have. Like on days one of us was sick. Whatever.
And being chastised for dating someone I ‘wasn’t sure I wanted to marry’. And having plans to travel in life which I may or may not have shared. Leading him on. And this all somehow implying that I had suddenly lost all ambition and would droo out, never go to uni, get married by 20 and presumably pop out some sprogs and go on the DPB.
Time has dimmed those memories, but I guess I still hold a trace of bitterness.