Thursday, July 13, 2000

Find out what it means to me

R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Find out what it means to me. Well, my dad did, I'm sure. Actually, I think he should have time and time again, but he hasn't, isn't that weird. Yes, that was meant to be a statement. In fact, I'm being so sarcastic it hurts. My dad has failed so many times to realize that I don't like it when he disrespects me that I eventually just started lashing out at him at all available times. Like yesterday. We were watching the TV, Survivor to be exact, and the minute the commercial started, he started yelling at me and commanding me to do all this stuff for him. I'm not one to just go around and disobey superiors, but I do appreciate it if they ask me nicely to do it, you know? Well, my dad seems to think that as long as he is older than me, I have to show him all of my respect, but it doesn't matter if he shows me an inch of his. Just about a week ago, I went and told him that it was my right as a human being, from the day I was born, to tell anyone, older or younger, when they have crossed a line with me. I think that taking the Self Defense course at Marlborough really gave me an insight into what my rights are and what is right and what is wrong when it comes to crossing any boundaries with me. The thing is, for years, I had no idea that I had the right to speak back to my dad, as long as I wasn't lashing out at him and blaming him for things I shouldn't be. If you don't follow me, I'll explain it another way. My dad had always told me I did not have the right to talk back to him because he was an adult, but what I learned was that when an adult breaks a rule, or enters your privacy, or crosses a line, you have the right, whether you are a boy or a girl, young or old, whether the other person is 20 years older than you or 2 months younger, you have the right to say it to there face when they have upset you and you want them to back off. Well, after hearing this, my dad went into a rage, his eyes looked big enough to pop right out of his head, and his face turned so red it looked like a tomato. He starts yelling at me, saying he can't believe I disrespect him so much, and if I even try to mutter the words, "Can't you see you are disrespecting me right now?" he gets all "ooh I'm the big macho man" and sends me to my room. I don't think parents really know what to do with a teenage kid when they are upset with one. You see, to a teenager, his or her room is like a haven. I spend almost all my time at home in my room. But what else are parents supposed to do? Send you out on the curb? So when your parents say, "Go to your room!" they don't realize that you don't give a damn where you go, but okay, your room is just fine. But back to my dad. For once, last week, he admitted to having a bad temper. He said, "I realize that I can let my temper take over me sometimes, and I can only realize afterwards what I have said, and I'm trying to control it, I'm sorry." At that moment, my dad broke his parenting shell. He said the thing that you aren't ever supposed to say to your kids. "I'm working on my temper. I'm sorry." It's like saying, "Don't pay any attention to me when I get mad at you. It's just my genes kicking in." But then, he said the awful word that all people dread yet always know when it's coming. "But..." It always seems like just when you've cracked your parents, just when they are vulnerable, and are realizing their own faults, the B word comes in. They just can't help it. They have to shift the blame a little. "But, Rachel, you've got the genes as well. We both have bad tempers. I just hope we can work on them together, and try not to get into fights as often." Ick. Don't you just hate it when your parents want to work out their problems with YOU? Well, it sure bugs me. I will deal with my problems, and you can deal with yours, but if we try to deal with them together, they will just get bigger and bigger until they explode again, and we will just end up making the whole situation worse. I just keep telling myself, it'll be different when Alexis leaves, I'm sure. Daddy will be less stressed, and we will get along much better. One can only hope. eleven: thirty pm