You know the worst thing about being good? No one expects anything rotten from you and it feels like a huge disaster if you do something negative, shockingly and extremely terrible. That is definitely what it feels like when the lamb of the family turns to a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
At first, they showcase some kind of shock but later on, it becomes something normal.
You become the proud one, the one that never listens. It’s worse if you have started working and relieve them of some of their tasks, God help you, you don’t listen or take all their advice into consideration. The emotional blackmail rises. To them, you have become the proud kid, who became a top shot and refused to listen. On your part, you feel at least by now, they ought to know I can at least take some decisions myself and clearly know right from wrong but they still feel they have to exert some authority because apparently you are still under their roof. They are cocksure that everything they tell you is right and rarely, if not at all, admit that they might be wrong. It is quite comical if you think about things they expect and I keep expecting them to trust in me, at least give me the opportunity to do my own thing too.
Another bone of contention growing up is the belief that the elders are usually right and I should conform to them no matter what they say. I couldn’t stand being cheated and wouldn’t back down to an erring elder. The only thing that infuriated me was my parents would never support me in front of these elders, when they came back to report my soi-disant wrongdoings. I remember the first time, such thing had occurred to me. I worried about something that had occurred at school and thought of the best way to tell my mum without my family friend (neighbourhood uncle and aunt) clouding her thoughts. I eventually wrote a letter to her and even mentioned that particular fact. She convinced me however that she would always believe in my side of the story, even if she is told something different by another person. That is usually inside the house though. When I am upbraided outside, it’s a different story. She has to accept it all, even apologise for my behavior (Yoruba mentality, elders are always right) and promise to raise me better.
You know when your parents have got so used to you saying yes to everything, even if you were to argue, you do it mildly and everything ends there. Well, as you grow older, you feel you might at least be allowed some space now.
It certainly doesn’t happen that way. The stifling continues, it’s rate just reduces over the years. I am not saying this training has not brought about the best of some of us, but at times, I wonder if some things are really necessary.
At times, I wonder if they have seen other kids that do not even undergo half of the so-called training they feel they have impacted and they still turn out alright. I wish I could tell them that it is not totally because of them I turned out this good. If I had decided to not listen and just pretend till I got my freedom in school, bring out the good alter ego when I am home and become a totally different person when I get to school, no one will be the wiser. I can recall when I was leaving for school, the advices I received, “Don’t forget the type of family you came from” and the threats, “I would periodically come to visit you in school, so don’t even think you are completely free and misbehave”. Pfft, that threat never came to fruition through my five years in the university, Labeebah thought.
The way they disguise abuse as home training never ceases to amaze me. Yeah, yeah, call it tough love but you know, deep down, you wonder if, maybe they had tried other methods, you might still turn out the paragon you seem to be. Some people actually have it worse though, you tell yourself. So maybe, these people are actually trying the most they can.
Don’t even get me started on some things they omit in their genius training. I worry about the kids of nowadays though, the world is more advanced now and there is access to a lot of things kept hidden from my generation when we were younger. It was a taboo to even speak of some things. It’s still vivid to me the punishment I faced when my diary was discovered in J.S.S 2 (second stage of junior secondary school). Little me had fallen in love and written all about my crush. Then, I even thought I was growing older than my age and was over mature. Well, the American movies dissuaded those thoughts.
The compliments were definitely limited and the comparison was heaped. Why make me feel that since my elder brother could do something or is more outgoing, I have to be the same way too? I was lucky to not be disturbed on book excellence, being the smart one and all, but other things still came into play. I wonder when they would finally realise that we are totally different. I am grateful I and my siblings are not warped though. Surely, these comparisons can change one’s thinking and cause jealousy. We definitely turned out well and didn’t let these circumstances define us. We are still growing though and are liable to make mistakes over our lifetime but at least, we have each other. Our parents might act the same way over and over, but it won’t make as much impact as before.
There are some kids that go through some similar training and still turn out worse. So, what happened differently? Some might say some twaddle like peer pressure and societal conditions usually influence one’s decisions as well at some stage. I think these just drive the nails in these kids’ coffins.
I find myself wondering about other people and how their parents are to them. I had even once asked my mum if she really birthed me or I was adopted. She just hissed and ignored me for a while. Are other parents this strict? Do the children have freedom to do anything they want? Does the narrative somehow change over the years and will the worrying ever reduce? Reading some novels and seeing the parental love depicted makes me muse on it. Surely, for the authors to write them like this, they must have experienced something similar, personally or from someone close at least.
When I hear people say they are really close to their parents and can comfortably tell them everything, I just smile. I know no matter how better our relationship might become over the years, I can’t still comfortably tell my parents some things. I remember there was a time in secondary school, I wrote letters to them instead, rather than tell them my innermost worries. It is not quite easy bringing the words out. I ponder it some times when I am faced with the quagmire of telling my parents some things that I can’t do without taking their permission, as per the good Nigerian girl. The afterthoughts of what would happen if I don’t speak out torture me and I find myself speaking up. Well, we only live once.
Now, any reprimand I receive just strengthens my resolve to leave this home and finally live on my own. There are some perks to not worrying about anything apart from food and work that I have enjoyed staying under my parents but this can not even deter me from my path of staying on my own. My parents sure tried their best as much as they could. They might have been victims of circumstances and did the most they could in that space, even if I had thought it wasn’t enough then. Leaving is definitely something that would help my mental health. At least, I wouldn’t need to push anything back or worry whether I am being a good child or not if I am staying on my own.
I wouldn’t exchange them for anything however. If there is another life or I am given an opportunity to go back to heaven and choose, I would still pick them over and over. The only thing different is that I would wish the circumstances they themselves had growing up were changed a little bit and some decisions could be reversed.
I would definitely not be this way to my kids, Labeebah said to herself. I know my parents certainly helped in forming some of my principles in life and have tried their best in raising me but I would sure as hell, try my possible best not to make the same mistakes they had and raise my children differently, if I eventually decide to give birth. It is sure not going to be a simple journey.
Lovely, lovely, over lovely they worry this article.💕💕💕💕💕 This is nostalgic.
As a teenager, I didn't run from home for only one reason - whenever I've made up my mind that I need to abscond, I realized it wasn't worth it and would return home
Mom was a great beater but dad was not. I can only remember ever getting slapped by him once. Omo! That slap wasn't painful, it was the realization that "I've pushed this man to the wall" that hurt
I do not consider some beatings and "punishment" as abuse, though. Each time I got "the beatings of my life", it was the best approach to straighten me out then. I was a hard kid, harder than a walnut, I recall, and I still am to a degree. You gotta be tough to survive on these streets and "ile la ti nkeso rode"
My parents, though my dad never saw it as such a good idea at first, know that I have opinions too and we'd argue for days before making decisions (I was worried my siblings would be rebellious too at some point) - we are a family and my parents know they have brainy and wise kids who know what they're doing
At a point, my siblings considered me the lucky bastard, even when they know I don't believe in luck, but all of these never tamper with the love we share. It's just our way of saying what we feel
And unlike Labeebah's, my parents are always ready to hear from me and I've never been afraid of talking to them about things, not ever!
However, it all boils down to the kind we have as parents are different
I am like my dad, I'm not really harsh and I hope to marry a woman like my mom. Perhaps, this is what enables my parents keep the balance
What a great read I had here. Kudos, ma'am