We are sitting at lunch, and I tell my parents that I'll have to go to school tomorrow to teach debate. Once a week, every Wednesday. Until I get my car back from my uncle. It's the third meeting, so they've sent me down twice already.
"When," my mum says, "will you be cut off from St Thom?"
I freeze.
"You're no longer a student of St Thom, why are you still doing this? Do you know how ma fan it is, to send you to school every week? Who is your debate teacher? Why can't she do it?"
I place my spoon back into my bowl, where it sends the bits and pieces of my soup - the carrots and the onions and the chicken strips - jumping around. "She has nothing to do with this. I'm doing this because I want to-"
"Oh. You want to. Smart." My sister cuts in.
"I volunteered - "
"Very smart." she says again, and then my dad takes on the mantle: "You don't have to do anything for that stupid school -" and my mum cuts back in: "You want to ... HAH if you can treat your house chores like that ... good lor ..."
I am seething now. There is a silence as we chew on our food.
"You know, if Val didn't come tomorrow we also wouldn't have any debate meeting." My youngest sister says.
"So it's okay for Val to do a debate meeting but it's not okay for me to do it?"
"Yeah."
"No it's not okay for Val as well," the other sister says.
A number of replies present themselves in my mind at this point, each one ruder than the last. I chose none of them and return to my food.
There are a number of reasons why I never tell my parents about my dreams. Why I never ask them for help with my problems. Why I never tell them anything about my non-academic activities. This conversation is a case study for that root cause. I'm not sure if my parents are alone in this, but they have never supported anything I've done, unless the activity concerned had some tangible benefit attached. When I had problems with the debate club I sorted them out myself. When I had problems in Judo I sorted them out myself. Ditto for almost everything that has mattered to me in the past 5 years.
I don't understand this. A part of me says they want the best for me, that their opposition against everything non-academic I've done is a result of their worry that I will let my grades slip. And I'm sure that plays some small part in it. But when conversations like today's happen, and their opposition is based on how ma fan it is for them to send me down ... that's when I know I've been justified in keeping my work/academic/co-k problems to myself.
And that's not the end of it. I also don't get how my sisters consistently support my parents in this. Firstly, it's none of their bloody business. Secondly, their argument consists of nothing more than "You always think you're right", which is a failsafe, and a intellectually slothful one at that. "You always think you're right" means that they're too lazy to think of a better counter-argument, in a fight that they shouldn't have been involved in in the first place, considering that it had nothing to do with them.
I think there're parents out there who would be proud of a kid who takes the initiative to start something on his or her own. Those parents aren't mine. My parents would only be supportive if I had something like a newspaper interview or a plague to show for my efforts - something they can see and touch and brag about. They never think about the things I learn when I'm doing something on my own - they don't think about the leadership I'm forced to show when I teach in debate; they don't think about the mental toughness I'm forced to have when I'm sparring at the dojo. There are other people out there, my age, who club and drink and have the time of their lives every other night, for no other reason than youth. And here I am doing something that I think is worthwhile, that I think would be worth my time in ways that don't benefit me directly ... and all they can think about is the amount of energy it'll take to send me down to school.
Don't get me wrong. This is not about gaining my parents' support, or respect, or even their recognition. I love my parents, even if they're not exactly good in this support thing. What this is about is why I don't talk to them about the things that matter to me. The things that make me who I am. My drive to do things, to accomplish things has never come from them, and it probably never will.
