The weirdest thing happened today. The weather was nice, I got to sleep late, I actually enjoyed class; I was in a pretty good mood all around. In this altered state of mind, fueled by sunlight and chocolate, I made the decision to call my parents. They both had called me in the last two days and I had yet to get back to them, plus I had some good news to brag about.
Twenty minutes later, I wanted to cry. I’ve spoken to my mother, who is completely incapable of taking subtle hints concerning topics I don’t want to talk about. She also asks inane questions which I cannot answer, even after I’ve made it clear I know nothing about whatever she’s asking. She also makes me feel guilty for not spending spring break at home, not calling my sister and even speaking to my dad (they’re getting divorced). And then she brings up Spitzer, like I have the energy to argue over the merits and drawbacks of prostitutes.
Nobody makes us feel more ungrateful, useless and just generally bad quite like our parents. It’s like they’re given some kind of handbook when we’re born that tells them exactly how to make us feel guilty — Jewish parents get the Deluxe Edition.
As a child, you always think to yourself that you’ll grow up to be about a thousand times cooler than your own folks. I even made a list, trying to ensure I remember the bitter anger of not being allowed to go to unsupervised parties and the indignity of being forced to wash dishes.
Yet, whatever you feel toward your parents for their collective effort in ruining your formative years, nothing prepares you for the guilt they lay on once you begin to live your own life. It’s not something you can be angry about, because it’s not (always) something you even know they’re doing on purpose. It’s not as if you can say “stop loving me so much!” when your mother asks why you have to go out with your friends every night of vacation.
Though I can only speak for my own parents, they seem to know exactly what they’re doing. They’re not laying on the guilt because they love me and want me to be in constant contact, but to make sure they still have complete control; manipulation over miles, as the case may be. Text messaging has exacerbated the problem.
The question becomes: How much do we owe our parents? A phone call once a week, or every day? I suppose calling them when you don’t just need money would be a good start. There is really no way to win against the ‘rents, however. If you don’t call them everyday, you will have to deal with the eternal guilt trip. If you do, you only raise their expectations of you and make the situation worse in the long run.
In the end, I think we either end up betraying the insane wishes and expectations of our parents in order to live our own lives, or we end up bitching about them in therapy for 10 years. The fight is similar to the battle between the sexes, but with more obligation and targeted culpability. Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents. I just love them more from 300 miles away.