The Things They Taught Me

My parents were hippies turned business men. Even when they left their lives of aimless travel and promiscuity for lives of monogamy and power suits, they still taught me about peace, love, and harmony. And even when they sat in bean bag chairs smoking dubees and listening to the Grateful Dead, they still taught me about business, government, and economics.

But no lesson ever stuck with me more than when they taught me who I was.

Because I didn’t get along with the other kids at school, my parents were my best friends for a long time. We played silly imagination games like fairy tale and Sailor Moon. And even though we were a family already, my favorite playtime activity was House. Things were always switched around, though. Usually, my mother was the dad, and my father was the baby. She always strutted around burping, and he always said things like, “I made a poopie,” because they knew it made me giggle.

And whenever we played, I always insisted on being the mother.

When I was really little, pre-school age, my parents didn’t think about it a whole lot. As I grew older, however, and my persistence continued, accompanied by the creation of teatime personas such as Mrs. Withersbee and Lady Mullholland, they began to worry. They never told me I was a freak or asked me to stop, though. It would have been unthinkable for them; they believed all things that took place in the dream world were sacred. But as the years went by and the separation of the sexes became more and more important amongst my peers at school, my parents began to fear for my safety and psyche. So when I came home with a bruised face and torn clothes one day, my parents took me out of public school and into therapy.

Continued...