It's My Life - Melody Carlson [53]
“That's not it,” I quickly say. “I've just been thinking of other options.” Well, to tell the truth, I've only been playing with this idea recently, and I must admit now, it was incredibly stupid of me to voice these thoughts aloud to my family over dinner.
“What options?” demands my dad, at the same time trying to appear calm.
“Well, for one thing, I'm thinking what if I'm not totally sure what I'm going to college for?”
“But your writing,” suggests my mom. “You could go into journalism or English literature or…”
“Or how about psychology?” adds my dad triumphantly. “You were just saying last week how much you like your psychology class.”
“Just because I like a class doesn't mean I want to make it my life's profession.”
“Well, that's okay,” says Mom. “You don't have to decide right away. You can just take general requirements the first year, and then decide later on down the line. I know people who changed their minds clear up into their senior year or ended up with a double major. It all works out.”
“I know.” I start clicking my chopsticks together in frustration, wondering why it is that parents feel they must control so many elements of your life. I mean, look at Jenny's parents (or more particularly her mom), and where's that gotten her? “Maybe I'd like to just spend a year or two down in the mission in Mexico,” I say quietly. “Maybe I could just work to feed and help the children at the garbage dump.”
Well, now you should see my parents' faces. It's as if I'd said I thought I might start shooting up heroin or become a surrogate mother or sell off my body parts or something. I mean, they're like totally appalled. Of course, they both say they think it's wonderful how much I care about those little kids, but wouldn't it be so much better if I get my degree first, then go help them later? To which I somewhat testily answer, “You know, it's a funny thing. But when you're a little kid and you're picking through the trash heap for scraps of rotten food, you might just find it a little hard to understand why it takes someone FOUR years before they come down and bring you something to eat!”
Well, naturally that irritates them. And I'm getting more than a little upset myself. So since I've already stuck my foot in it, I just continue. “Whose life is this anyway?” I blurt out. “I mean, who gets to decide what I do or don't do next year? What if God is calling me to be a missionary? And what if He wants me to go to Mexico to feed His starving little children?”
Now my dad kind of rolls his eyes (which really irks me) then says, “Oh, great, so now you want to become Mother Teresa?”
“And what's so wrong with that?” I challenge, locking eyes with him.
“Nothing, honey,” soothes Mom, trying to cool things down before we're all yelling and screaming. “But can't you see why we'd like you to finish college first?”
Well, by then my stomach's so knotted that I know I cannot possibly eat another bite. And although I feel just a teeny bit guilty for ruining everyone's meal, at the same time, I refuse to take all the blame for this stupid scene (see, I'm moving beyond codependency!). I stand up and tell them not to worry, but I'll find my own way home, thank you very much!
Then in a calm but firm voice, I say, “This is my life, and I intend to live it however I feel is right. So you better get used to it.” Now I'm thinking perhaps that last line was uncalled for. But, sheesh, isn't it the truth? Then I walk out of the restaurant and down the street to a bus stop, where fortunately (since it's starting to get cold and I didn't wear a very warm jacket) a bus pulls up. And as I ride toward home, I question myself, wondering if I am totally wrong to take such a strong stand against my parents. I mean, they are my parents. And we are supposed to respect our parents. But what do you do if you believe God is pulling you one way and your parents are pulling you the other?
About that time, I remember the Bible verse where Jesus said that families would become divided over Him (father against son, mother against daughter).