Episode 3…Imperfect.
According to a chinese zodiac placemat I had when I was 5, the dog and the dragon can not get along well. This was repetedly proven by my mother and I.
My father was the one who took care of me when I was little, and Mother was the one that worked. She worked a lot, 9 to 5 every weekday, an hour away. I can’t remember too many times that I was very happy around her, though there is a home video of me when I was two and very excited that she had just gotten home from work. I wish I could remember that, but the earliest memory I have of her is much more dark and quite disturbing, now that I’m older and know what’s right.
We used to ave an attachment for our bath tub that was like a shower, but in a hose. One night, Mother was giving me a bath. I think I wanted to use the hose myself, but she wouldn’t let me. I started to cry in protest (a loud, obnoxious, whiny cry, I’ll admit it.) and she wouldn’t have any of it. Mother grabbed the back of my head and held me in place as she sprayed the water in my face, long enough that I started breathing it in but not long enough for me to suffer any real damage. I’ve been scared of her, as well as of getting water in my face in the shower, ever since.
The worst experience I ever had with Mother, though, happened sometime between when I first grew hair and when I was 9. Mommy was always a little too rough on my hair, brushing me the way a little girl would a baby doll. I was always scared of her with a brush in her hand, and that night was no exception. The pointless pulling got to the point that I insisted my dad finish, the request backed up by some tears. My mother had some tear of her own to release.
“You knoe what? I am SO dissapointed in you. I always wanted a little girl so I could do her hair and paint her nails and dress her up in cute dresses. I was so excited when I found out I was having a girl. But what are you? You won’t let me do ANY of those things! You’re a horrible daughter, a horrible girl!”
With that, her stream of tears took over, and my father finished my hair. I have never let her brush my hair or do my nails or buy me cute dresses unless I really, desperately needed her to since.
Of course, there have been some good times I’ve had with my mother. She’s taken me to concerts, bought me some pretty cool things… Though, I’ve always been jealous of my friends for being so close to their moms. I’m not permitted to talk to my mom like a friend – I feel trapped in some Olde English literature, each sentence teaming with undue respect.
I love Taylor Swift, but I can’t listen to “The Best Day” without crying. No other song does that to me so severly.
