I’ve come to realize that at this point, a successful relationship with my parents involves a great amount of filtering and blocking out what they say. I believe this would be analogous to a sort of “parental filter” or “child censor” that parents use on their children when they’re young; but at this time in my life, the tables should be switched, and I should be the one to actively decide what’s of value in what they say. So this kind of “parental filter” would involve MYSELF passively listening to all the crap that my parents dish out to me, then actively remembering/pursuing/engaging the real substantive stuff that they talk about.
However, for the most part these days, the substantive stuff rarely manifests. What I really looking for are things about: how grandma is doing, how the family investments are doing, how’s everyone’s health, have we heard back from relative x?, are we going to have dinner with family friends y?, what kind of mail do I have waiting for me at home?, etc., etc… What I’d be willing to talk about are: how was Afghanistan? – dusty and cold; are you graduating yet? – yes, unless the University bureaucracy fucked up my diploma again; do you need money? – no, thanks; how’s Victoria doing? – great, she’s still alive and kicking; what’s your life plans for now? – don’t worry I got it covered. They’re very simple, but lengthy. I’ll brief you on this later; let’s arrange family dinner appointments for the week – great, let me get my schedule…
But of course, the communication with the folks is usually some really ineffective and sentimental crap (not that sentimental is bad, but that my parents these days are overwhelmingly sentimental). So what I usually hear is: have you eaten yet? when are you going to eat dinner with us? have you payed all your bills yet? I’ve been keeping track of all of them, you had me so scared! Where is all your money coming from to pay your bills? Don’t pick up the house-phone, I have a FAX coming! Who’s clothes are these, do you want me to iron them? I’m so proud of you, you can wash your own dishes now! Wait, you can cook too! When are you going to eat dinner with us? Have you eaten yet? blah, blah, blah, blah…
And of course, my usual answers to those annoying questions: no, I’m not hungry yet; whenever I’m free; yes, of course, I haven’t missed a bill in years (even while I was in Afghanistan); why should you be scared, they are my bills, not yours; I’ve been saving up, what else?; of course, I never pick up the house phone! geez; no, those pants aren’t mine. they’re dad’s – iron them if you like; yes, I’ve been washing my own dishes (and others’) since 1999; Yes, I’ve been cooking for myself (and others) since 1992, haven’t you noticed?; Eat with you? Suggest a time, I’ll check my calendar; Yes, I’ve eaten….blah, blah, blah, blah.
So I’m sure these types of conversations sound familiar. At this point in my life, I don’t need overwhelming sentiment from my parents nor do I need daily check-ups on whether my bills are being paid or whether my underwear has been cleaned yet. True, I know that my parents are more interested in just talking to me (about just ANYTHING) rather than talking about something INTERESTING or SUBSTANTIVE because they’re lonely, reminiscing people who can’t forget the days of yore when I was a helpless 4-year old. And yes, I agree that it would be wise and generous, and maybe even required to entertain my parents with the daily banter about how I enjoy the large grapefruits growing backyard or how cold 65 F is (to an aging Vietnamese immigrant who has been stuck in OC for 25 years).
But still, it just gets so annoying that I end up sequestering myself in my own room. There. Ahh, doesn’t that feel great? No more whining, no more buggering, just peace and quiet. Left to my own rational thoughts, the domesticated home makes so much more sense. But this kind of feels weird. I’m not in high school anymore, and I shouldn’t be hiding myself in my room to avoid my parents’ incessant and unnecessary distractions. Instead, I think I should plan to corner my own parents into their side of the house, so that I myself may walk about the house freely without fearing the parental pseudo-psychological abuse. But I figure, hey it’s just a matter of time before they themselves will find themselves sequestered into their own area of the house, and then maybe their own house, and eventually maybe their own hole in a convalescent home…just like my grandma. Sad isn’t it? But that’s life and culture in the US. Space is important, and concentration uninterrupted by distractions, even familial ones, is important.
So I figure, I should just make myself so pungent, abnoxious, and annoying (essentially mount a counter-psychological attack on my parents – I believe the military would call this counter psy-ops) so that they just give up and leave me be. Ahh, there we go…peace and quiet again. Now I can really concentrate on the important things – back to my newspaper…job applications, and other activities of self-enrichment that my parents really want for me, but won’t let me have, at least while I’m physicially (and psychologically) around them. Isn’t life sad? But this is how we must deal with the changing times and shifting dynamics and relationships within the inter-generational and domesticated household. Hrmf.