The pressure of this was felt at all times. I was responsible, and I kept things like that in mind- “What will this do to the example I'm setting?” - but my Dad also reminded me from time to time when I had thought I'd got it right... and he didn't seem to think so. At those times, with differing opinions on something of middling to major importance, he would occasionally surprise, humble, and raise my confidence by allowing me to do what I thought was best. We would discuss the issue or circumstance, he making his points while countering mine and vice verse, and then I'd think on it for anywhere from a few minutes to several days, depending. I always felt slightly guilty whenever I went against his specific wish in doing what I had decided was better, but he never said a word. He blessed me.
Maturing was daily, it seemed. I came to a point, at 12, where my own mother was asking me for advice. She would rant and rage about some problem she and a friend were having, and did she do something wrong, or tell me the latest argument with dad and how she couldn't have done anything wrong. At 16, my parents went on a trip to another country, leaving all of the kids younger than myself here with me. My older brother and his wife were here at nights, but during the day, my parents had passed all responsibility for their children's safety and well-being to me. They did this two more times, once at 17, and the next at 18, trusting me with lives. With my dad, it was harder to tell when he actually saw me as growing up. He would talk to me as an adult, sometimes let me in on something going on within the family or circle of family friends, but he had a different system for allowing me to grow after my sister had changed so much. It was harder for him to trust me. I think, mainly, that he thought my mom had too much faith in me, that, if I fell, she would break. He would fence me for her safety.
Being fenced in was hard sometimes. It made it so that little things seemed bigger, like calling a bank to activate your new debit card, or going to drivers' training. I started working at 15 as a self-employed office cleaner... a cleaning lady. Until 18, my mom was my sole employee, but we never talked about that much. In her eyes, I worked for her, but we both did equal amounts of work, so we might as well have been partners. We would spruce up the building my dad's company was at, managing condos and their properties. It would only take about an hour at the most, and the check was $50. Once a week. That was my first job. My second job, at 17, was much more of a growing process. I had to actually fill out an application for that, have an interview, and train, on my own. I did it, and two weeks later I was working as a library aid three days a week. And that's how my dad would work. Saying, no, no, that's not how this family operates, and then saying, you need this experience; it's the next step. I hated both phases, going through them. In each, I felt alone. Perhaps that's what he did. Taught me to be alone.
I've always trusted that my parents have my best interest at heart, I've always known that they care. Even with 9 siblings, for most of my life I felt tended to. My mother focused in on the small things, while my dad would keep the big picture of his older children in mind. When I had a problem with a friend, I would find my mom. When I needed guidance in making a decision for my life, I'd seek my father. When I went through a growing phase in my emotional or spiritual life, I would talk to both. I knew even then that whomever I spoke to would tell the other, but I've always found that even the most attentive listener will somehow change the story to my dissatisfaction, and I liked us all to be on the same page.
My parents cover both aspects of me and where I want to go, through all of my changes and all of my goals. My mom wants me to experience life at the fullest, while sticking to my morals, and my dad wants me to achieve all that I need for a good, full life. They both have the same vision in how they see me as an adult, or in the phase of becoming one. Sophisticated, educated, well-rounded, confident, and happy. Sitting at a coffee shoppe, discussing life and all the oddities thereof with some confidante from a college class. I have to admit, that picture is highly appealing. I also admit that my parents know me well enough to guess how much I'll have to grow outside of my comfort-zone to get to that level. For one, my thoughts on life and it's oddities have always differed with those of others, making the conversation more interesting for me, but not for them. For two, though I talk quite a lot with classmates while at school, I don't bring them home with me. For three, in my experience, classmate or not, good friends have been hard to come by.
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