The standoff ends. The empty nest remains.

Today I ended the sixteen-day standoff with my dad when I called to tell him that I would be in town this weekend.  Not really by choice, of course; my mother forced me into calling before I was ready to.  And while I am no longer seventeen, falling victim to parental threats, I felt that she had blown this argument way out of proportion and it became very apparent that I had to put an end to it before she inadvertently inflicted some actual damage.

My mother told me two nights ago during a fit of exaggeration, HEY! YOU AH LUINING THE FAMILY!, adding that I should be ashamed of my behavior since his comments were completely justified.  After all, I did tell him that he would have to wait ten years before I have kids, thus inciting his panic and the resulting hostile remarks.  Never mind that I’ve been saying “ten years” for, ohhh, ten years now…

The phone call with my dad was brief—twenty seconds at most.  I spent a good twelve of those seconds repeating, “Hello?” and “Are you there?” because all I heard was the faint echo of my own voice.  After my dad grunted in acknowledgement of my weekend visit, he hung up without saying goodbye, and I realized that it was his attitude, and not spotty reception, that was responsible for the dead air.  That’s right, he was upset with me. While I knew that it was both naive and futile to expect an apology, I surely did not predict that he might turn it around on me.  Some days I don’t think I know him at all.

As the oldest child, the “responsible” child, I have a strong sense of duty to my family and find it a constant struggle to determine how to separate my familial and personal obligations.  Moreover, as much as I have been placing my own needs first, my family has proven to be extremely resistant to this “selfish” behavior and I have been told many times in the past several months that I am SUCH A BEECH. It saddens me that they see me through such a narrow and self-serving scope rather than understand that I’m just becoming stronger and more certain of the things I want out of life (less BS, for instance).  I have told them many times that I will never neglect them when they need me, but that they can’t just abuse my sense of obligation either.  Four phone calls a day to keep tabs on my daily activities is really not good for my mental health.  Their apron strings are choking me!

This time, I gave way to my family duties and allowed them to “win” in order to end the standoff.  When I see my parents this weekend, I’ll be the sweet and obedient daughter they have always loved, be as helpful as ever, and will do my best to smile and count to ten before answering their inane questions.  But it is very unlikely that the daily conversations will resume, and I will no longer volunteer details about my personal life.

This time, sadly, it is a game: I will nod and play the role required of me, while I slowly back away from their grip on my sanity.  As much as I love my family, I am my own person.  I forget that some days.  I don’t think I ever should.

Weddings and babies and pressure…oh my

I attended a wedding banquet with my mother earlier this month.  As these wedding banquets are held primarily for the newlyweds’ parents to show off to their friends, nearly every guest was over the age of 50.  The food was okay, the company was awkward and the conversation was a bit forced.  Still, I did my due diligence and, so as not to embarrass my mother, laughed at their jokes, answered their questions, and politely batted away their attempts to set me up with their sons and nephews.

The following day, there was a telephone message on my parents’ answering machine from a banquet guest’s mother.  My own mother called me downstairs, grinned, and pointedly asked me if I remembered a young man sitting near us.  I had been dreading this.  I sighed and told her that I did in fact see the quiet gentleman in his mid-thirties, sitting at the next table.  My mother then twittered excitedly (like a bird, not the website), WAH YOU NOTICE HIM!  YOU MUSS BE INTERESTING! I told her very firmly that I was not interested in him, and explained that every sober woman of my generation has the ability to sense a pair of eyes boring holes into her person.  The guy had been looking at me for something like forty-five minutes while I sat at my table, alone, and rather than approach me to say Hello, asked his mother to figure it out for him.  Now, I understand that some people are timid; there is nothing wrong with that quality.  Some women like shy men who can’t take their lives into their own hands.  I just happen to not be one of those women.  Confidence is important.  My guy has to have a pair.

After I reiterated the NoThankYous, my dad decided to jump into the conversation.  ”Does he have a house?”

I told him that was irrelevant, that I was not interested in this man.  You’re being too picky.  You are getting old now, do you understand?  There is nobody your age left to marry. I stared at him in disbelief.  I am only in my mid-twenties.  Who cares if he’s 35 or even 40?  You are lucky that anybody is even interested in you.  You are too old, you need to settle for someone. Apparently my qualities aren’t good enough to wrangle me a decent one.  Clearly I am too old and undesirable to be able to find a man of character.  Thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad!  ::thumbs up::

I got a perfectly timed phone call at that moment and so managed to escape the firing squad.  Although it still hurts that my father thinks so lowly of me, I do ultimately recognize what I am worth, and am not the least bit worried that I will marry someone worthwhile one of these days.  What’s the rush?

I’d also like to take this moment to add that my dad had been hounding me about grandbabies all weekend, so his madman ramblings were probably partly motivated by his own biological clock.  Still no excuse to be jerk, however.  That said, I am currently not on speaking terms with him.  Before you shake your head disapprovingly, please know that I am not playing a game with him; I hate games more than anyone.  I just don’t see why I should choose to call somebody and talk about the weather when this person makes me feel useless, unattractive, and self-conscious.

I have made it a habit to banish negativity from my life; family not excepted.  It has only been about ten days, and I will probably forgive him soon since I am pretty lousy when it comes to holding grudges.  But I certainly will not forget his words, and will remember to hold things much more closely to heart in future conversations with him.

All the “not-in-a-relationship” ladies!

“Single” is an ugly word.  Not because it describes the lack of a partner, but because it screams “…and looking!” which isn’t always the case.  I suppose it’s only ugly to those of us who are of marrying age, who have extremely nosy relatives with a lot of free time and way too many foreign friends who have 38 year-old single and-still-living-at-home sons they’d really like to see married already.  Look, I appreciate the gesture, but I have no interest in dating nervous men pushing midlife who have never had a girlfriend.  Despite my gently worded NoThankYous, they always manage to gossip and scheme with one another.  AH! SHE IS SING-GO!, they would say.  MY FREN HAS A SON.  ACCOUNTAN!

At this time, I’d like to explain to you that I only have two unmarried relatives left: one is my brother, who is six months out of college and still far too young to be pestered about such trivialities, and the second is a female cousin in her thirties who only loves the church (seriously).  This means I get to be their pet project.  God help me.

When a woman goes from being in a relationship to… well, not… she tends to feel the need to purge the negativity and rebrand herself as young, sassy, and ready for anything.  I don’t need him anyway!, she might declare fervently as she eyes the Louboutins.  She might make a dramatic physical change to symbolize her transition into a new life, shop to fill the glorious new void in her closet, prowl the bars for a pick-me-up.  As my relationship neared its end, I lost about ten pounds (mostly from stress, only partly from self control), bought a flight to the Caribbean, found myself some nice 4-inch heels and chopped off 12 inches of hair, so it would seem that I was following protocol to a tee (tea? T?).

I also decided to start a blog, which I have successfully avoided writing in for some time now.  Since shopping is putting a hole in my wallet and I have no more hair to cut, I think it’s time I got this baby rolling.  I also have a joint-blog with my friend K (twotwentysomethings), which I believe will be much more informative, anecdotal and useful than this one.  Sadly for you, oohlalani will be my personal soundboard when I want to post a snippet of a funny conversation, describe the grocery store checker’s [possibly infected] nose ring, complain about my dog pooping in the house, or recount how my wrap dress flew open in the middle of downtown during the lunch hour (I’ll save that one for a slow day).

Now that I have the introductory post under way, I can’t imagine that I’ll wait TOO long until my next post…