I get told that I’m a ‘good kid’ quite often.
Obviously, to my parents, this makes me no less than the spawn of Satan (see what I did there?)
Of course, my parents, who raised me with all the sweetness of Nazi concentration camps for Jews giant, cuddly teddy-bears will attest to the fact that I still have a ‘lot to learn’. What really sucks about being back at Auschwitz home after so long is the realisation that, no matter how hard I try to deny it, they’re right.
They’re usually right.
I’m usually wrong.
They’re just sorted, you know. You don’t expect to go to them for advice (or money) and come back thinking ‘Huh. What was the point of that?’ They’re the ones that never fail you. They’re just…there. Need life advice? Parents. Need somebody to yell at you once in a while (too often)? Parents. Need to unscrew a jar? Parents.
And then you start to realize, when do you cut the umbilical cord? When you start screwing up and starting to fix it yourself? Or when you start to think that you know more than they do? Truth is, you never really cut that cord. And that’s what really scares me. One day, someday, that cord will be cut. It’s really beyond anyone’s control but that day will come when I mess up in life and I turn around and they aren’t there. For the first time ever. And that’s fucking frightening. It’s like being stranded at sea without a ship, without a float, heck, without a clue.
I’ll learn to swim though, I know I will. And you know why? It’s because they taught me how. Maybe someday I’ll be the float for another monster-in-waiting, even. But that’s a blog post and panic attack reserved for some other day.