The dissolution of an eight year relationship left me with plenty of time on my hand and lots going on in my mind. To fill the space and quiet the voices, I decided to return back to school. Subsequently, the eight years spent living as a Stepford Wife left me somewhat more mature than my college peers…and by mature, I mean older. As most of my friends, co-workers, colleagues and editor can tell you, I am occasionally prone to tantrums if I do not get my way on an issue that I feel strongly about…or even ambiguously about depending on when you should ask my opinion.
This sense of entitlement coupled with simply being Southern, I suppose, disposes me with a flair for being “dramatic” bordering on histrionic. I, however, prefer the term “passionate.” When someone says that someone else is “passionate about their beliefs,” folks always seem to think that a compliment. So I like to think myself very passionate. For example, last week, I was very passionate at the DMV when the lady behind the glass told me that I couldn’t use the same photo that I had been using to renew my driver’s license. I passionately explained to her that the lighting at her fine location made my skin an eerie color and although the picture on my currently expired license had been taken fifteen years ago, I still looked the same. Coincidentally, until the lady and I resolve this situation, I cannot technically operate a motor vehicle. I am trying to stand firm to my conviction, but I never learned to ride a bicycle and the thought of speeding down an expressway leaves me terrified.
As a child, my mother learned very early to leave me waiting in the car while she ran errands if there was a remote possibility that I would be driven to distraction during one of her trips at something I saw. Leaving the window cracked for air, I would be left to my own devises with a box of crayons while she paid bills, shopped for groceries, or had her weekly meetings with one of my teachers.
I concede that I could be a handful at those moments when I spied a new toy lurking on a shelf just out of my reach, begging for me to take it home. I could literally hear it pleading from behind the shiny, clear wall of plastic. “Take me home with you,” it would say. “Our adventures will be legendary.” I would then begin a soft whine to get my mother’s attention. After being ignored a few times, I would be forced to shriek and throw myself to the floor kicking and screaming. My mother was nearly as passionate in her conviction of not allowing me the thing, even though I would always promise never to ask for another thing ever…After a few of those episodes which generally ended in her dragging my limp body out of the store crying, she thought it best to just leave me in the car to avoid upsetting me.
To this day, I refuse to believe that I was spoiled. Despite dirty looks from passersby and whispers advising my parents to spank me, my grandmother would say that I was just high-spirited. She never punished me and would not allow my parents to punish me if she were anywhere around. Around thirteen, I learned that unreservedly throwing myself to the ground while wailing and kicking rarely produced a desired result and merely looked ridiculous. Instead, I learned to effectively bargain or manipulate circumstances to favor my intents.
Think or say what you will, but I grew up with the freedom that allowed me the luxury of believing that nothing was out of my reach. Growing up surrounded by the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains, most people struggle to get by, but I was allowed to soar over them.
As the years passed, I became more and more reserved, more passive and less like the strong-willed aggressive brat that I was once labeled. After eight years, I no longer recognized who I was, so it was no surprise that my partner didn’t recognize me either. He began to cheat and then he left me alone with nothing but time to remember the person that should have insisted on better. Age doesn’t necessarily include wisdom, and I learned early that sometimes you have to wail, kick and scream until you get what you deserve…I just temporarily forgot.
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