How My Parents Ruined My Life; or how it was before parents started reading parenting books

Maybe this long post is the first chapter of my first book.

Thank you Mama and Daddy for ruining my life before I even had a chance to start doing it myself!! I mean you cannot imagine the horrendous things my sisters and I had to endure. My parents actually repeated these questionable behaviors with 4 daughters. Lawdy, I'm getting a case of the vapors just remembering the experiences. If only Mama and Daddy had had access to all of the experts on child development but the poor, backward things had to make do on the Word of God, generations of common sense and prayer. Lots and lots of prayer.

Before I continue this with my tongue firmly planted in my cheek, a few serious notes must be hit. I miss my Daddy every day, sometimes so much it actually makes me ache. When he left for home, I was left with the comfort that there were no words unsaid between us; love was expressed openly and often; all fences were mended; that he was going to live with THE Daddy in a place of such bliss that even a description escapes the human vocabulary. I love my mama dearly. She never gave up on me because she knew her child - HIS lost sheep - would return. Now my mama may be 83 but it sure hasn't slowed her down much. In fact I have to high-step it to keep up with her on Fridays when I "drive Miss Daisy" over Hades-and-half-of Georgia. She's a handful, honey! Good for her that dinner (that's the noon meal) is included in this deal or she might just have to call a Radio Cab to tote her around! I know, big talk around company - please don't tell her I said all that. She has a cane and she ain't afraid to use it.

Now to reveal how the diabolical plan evolved, in no particular order:

If you can you believe it, they dragged me to church every Sunday morning, Sunday evening, Wednesday evening AND THEN for everything from revival to youth fellowship?! Now with a hot mess like me I guess it was either go to church or to jail for throttling me but still. Oh and they actually stayed and participated in the adult activities; no dropping my sisters and me off. How embarrassing - parents who didn't ditch church! It was mortifying to explain to my friends.

Grasp this if you will - I had to look up the word "babysitter" when someone asked me if I wanted to do that when I was about 12. My parents let my older sisters tend to me on the rare occasions when Dot and John went out without us. Then when I was old enough I had to tend to my baby sister - unbelievable! No paid attendants, sheesh. We were expected to "contribute to the household." Gross! And family vacations meant just that, family. My parents were blind to the need for us to bring at least one friend. Every summer I was expected to actually have fun with my parents and sisters. Being seen in public places with MY PARENTS and sisters simply had to be against the Geneva Convention rules regarding cruel and unusual punishment; places like the beach and Stone Mountain - even the "happiest place on earth"- were not immune from my parents' schemes regarding happy family fellowship. Yack!

Speaking of family, it was like "My Big, Fat Greek Wedding" only it was "My Big, Loud, Christian, Southern Wingding." It was just like the movie; except for instead of Greek's there were Anderson's - and everyone else who wished they were. Mama and Daddy actually hauled us around to hang out with all those people. The relatives I already saw twice on Sunday and at Wednesday night prayer meeting. We are family, I got all my sisters with me...and my aunts, uncles, great aunts, 3rd cousins twice removed. At least the snacks were good! And really I do love them all - they're the best EVAH!

Food was another part of their plan to ruin my self-esteem. Wait for it...we ate together as a family every night. Around a table. We prayed before we ate. Then we were expected to use appropriate table manners and make dinner conversation. And woe unto anyone who commented on the food choices of anyone at the table. My daddy's pet peeve was "tending other folks plates" and it just wasn't done. Not in my home, not around my daddy until the day he died. It didn't matter if my sister drowned her dinner in ketchup and jelly it was her plate and I better shut my pie hole. Better yet fill the hole with pie to keep it from getting me in trouble! Didn't these folks understand the pressure to perform? Where was the empathy for my emerging ego? And my mother didn't just cook good old-fashioned Southern vittles; cooking things nobody else's mother in our neighborhood cooked meant I was forced to taste new things. The angst! The torture! I mean who makes a six-year old Georgia peach like me eat Belgian waffles, Chinese pepper steak, Italian manicotti ?! Mama didn't play either - eat what was on your plate or go hungry. No subbing PB& J or cereal . Eat or die! (Okay so it was really eat or go to bed hungry. Poetic license. Bless your heart - get over it.)

Manners were a HUGE part of my torturous upbringing, starting at home. Elbows off the table; one hand and your napkin in your lap; don't reach across but ask to pass; begin eating when everyone is served; take what you'll eat, eat what you take. Do NOT talk with your mouth full because see-food isn't attractive. Don't interrupt, especially when adults are talking; you wait your turn to be recognized. Yep, ruined my self-worth, my sense of belonging in the world, my right to act asinine in public. Pitching a fit in a public place? I would have been better off staying alone, in the dark, in the J. B White stockroom all night than to face my daddy if I had shown my bee-hind in public. Imagine - my parents backed each other up; a united, impenetrable front. I did not learn how to play both ends against the middle but then again, neither did my daughter!

Thank you, Mama and Daddy, for loving me so much that you ruined my life. You ruined it so I would be fit to live among civilized people (some allegedly so, trust me on this!). I love you!