LJ Idol Week 11, Part 1: Wild Goose Chase
These days, as I get closer and closer to my 40s, I am quite regularly struck by the thought that my life is not at all what it used to be. Moreover, I can’t say that it’s anything like what I expected it to become either.
At the local grocery store--never at a chain--my mother would beg the cashier to accept a post-dated check for some noodles and spaghetti sauce until she was paid again. Her check register was meticulous; it was a delicate system that, even as an adult, I’m still in awe of how she pulled it off without overspending her future check. This, of course, was when my father was in prison and there was no money coming in from the selling of drugs.
We received Section 8 housing assistance until I was a senior in high school. My grandparents had passed away and, because my mother was the only sibling who didn’t already own a home, my parents were able to purchase the remaining two-thirds of the house from her siblings without having to save for a down payment.
As a junior in high school, my history teacher pulled me aside to ask me what my plans were after high school. Despite being enrolled in honors courses with a high GPA, no one had ever asked me that before; because I was neither the outspoken joiner nor the troublemaker who didn’t complete assignments, I went fairly unnoticed by my teachers over the years. My parents didn’t go to college, but their expectation was always that I complete my assignments to the best of my ability before being allowed to do other activities. Therefore, there must have been a part of us that wanted me--expected me--to go to college, despite the fact that none of us had taken any of the steps necessary to make that a reality. However, there was certainly part of me that was terrified of the idea of college. I was convinced that I wasn’t as smart as my friends and, without them, I would fail. I was also ill-prepared to live on my own as my mother didn’t teach me how to cook or how to do laundry and, because my parents believed my job as a young adult was to earn good grades, I had no chores or after school job where I learned additional skills.
Some part of me must have realized that there were aspects of my household that were unique as I spent the night at friends’ houses and experienced their families and I was clearly directed to not discuss anything about drugs or where my father was while he was in prison; my mother would gladly allow people to believe that she and my father were separated over the fact that he was a felon because then we would no longer be eligible for the housing assistance. However, the more distance from my childhood, the more distortions I see.
I wonder what would have happened if that teacher hadn’t intervened and gave me a list of colleges to apply to, if I hadn’t moved away to college.
I remember all the boys I shed tears over who didn’t really care before I met my husband. I think of all the ways my life would be different, how it may have more closely mirrored my parents' if I had, in fact, chosen one of them. Or rather, if they had chosen me.
My husband and I bought our first house in 2010 because, thanks to the recession, we were able to qualify for a loan with a small down payment. In 2015, we were able to resell that house for a profit that we were then able to use as a down payment on a new house. For the better part of a year, I found myself sitting in the living room in disbelief that this house, with its hard work floors, matching cabinetry and granite counters throughout, and recessed lighting, was actually mine.
After we had both completed school and were working, we ran out of excuses to not attempt to have children, despite my apprehension. While parenthood is certainly not all sunshine and butterflies, it is so much more of everything than I ever imagined possible and I cannot possible describe it in words.
Some days I do succumb to the impostor syndrome coupled with depression because having all of this, coming all this way doesn’t prevent me from feeling like I don’t deserve it, that it’s mere luck that I am where I am today; unlike the movies, finally getting the job, the man or the family, or some material object, like a house, doesn’t magically erase all the pain and fear of a lifetime. On the good days, though, I am able to relish in all the things I have that I never expected and truly embrace them.
At the local grocery store--never at a chain--my mother would beg the cashier to accept a post-dated check for some noodles and spaghetti sauce until she was paid again. Her check register was meticulous; it was a delicate system that, even as an adult, I’m still in awe of how she pulled it off without overspending her future check. This, of course, was when my father was in prison and there was no money coming in from the selling of drugs.
We received Section 8 housing assistance until I was a senior in high school. My grandparents had passed away and, because my mother was the only sibling who didn’t already own a home, my parents were able to purchase the remaining two-thirds of the house from her siblings without having to save for a down payment.
As a junior in high school, my history teacher pulled me aside to ask me what my plans were after high school. Despite being enrolled in honors courses with a high GPA, no one had ever asked me that before; because I was neither the outspoken joiner nor the troublemaker who didn’t complete assignments, I went fairly unnoticed by my teachers over the years. My parents didn’t go to college, but their expectation was always that I complete my assignments to the best of my ability before being allowed to do other activities. Therefore, there must have been a part of us that wanted me--expected me--to go to college, despite the fact that none of us had taken any of the steps necessary to make that a reality. However, there was certainly part of me that was terrified of the idea of college. I was convinced that I wasn’t as smart as my friends and, without them, I would fail. I was also ill-prepared to live on my own as my mother didn’t teach me how to cook or how to do laundry and, because my parents believed my job as a young adult was to earn good grades, I had no chores or after school job where I learned additional skills.
Some part of me must have realized that there were aspects of my household that were unique as I spent the night at friends’ houses and experienced their families and I was clearly directed to not discuss anything about drugs or where my father was while he was in prison; my mother would gladly allow people to believe that she and my father were separated over the fact that he was a felon because then we would no longer be eligible for the housing assistance. However, the more distance from my childhood, the more distortions I see.
I wonder what would have happened if that teacher hadn’t intervened and gave me a list of colleges to apply to, if I hadn’t moved away to college.
I remember all the boys I shed tears over who didn’t really care before I met my husband. I think of all the ways my life would be different, how it may have more closely mirrored my parents' if I had, in fact, chosen one of them. Or rather, if they had chosen me.
My husband and I bought our first house in 2010 because, thanks to the recession, we were able to qualify for a loan with a small down payment. In 2015, we were able to resell that house for a profit that we were then able to use as a down payment on a new house. For the better part of a year, I found myself sitting in the living room in disbelief that this house, with its hard work floors, matching cabinetry and granite counters throughout, and recessed lighting, was actually mine.
After we had both completed school and were working, we ran out of excuses to not attempt to have children, despite my apprehension. While parenthood is certainly not all sunshine and butterflies, it is so much more of everything than I ever imagined possible and I cannot possible describe it in words.
Some days I do succumb to the impostor syndrome coupled with depression because having all of this, coming all this way doesn’t prevent me from feeling like I don’t deserve it, that it’s mere luck that I am where I am today; unlike the movies, finally getting the job, the man or the family, or some material object, like a house, doesn’t magically erase all the pain and fear of a lifetime. On the good days, though, I am able to relish in all the things I have that I never expected and truly embrace them.