05 Oct 2016

It’s natural to grow up thinking your parents are these larger than life personas who seem to know everything and have it all figured out. In the most primitive sense of religion and linking yourself to a narrative for reassurance, the unwavering faith you place in your parents is essentially your first religion and their home, in turn, a church.

This was no different for me. As a wide eyed hatchling, my parents were these infallible, worldly professionals who had seen it all and done it all. I wouldn’t dare defy them because a) they supposedly knew best, and b) the fear of physical discipline loomed over me.

As the years passed, I began to witness a metamorphosis that I had never thought possible. These titans of the household could no longer help me with homework. Their notions became antiquated and at times, borderline offensive. I saw the world overwhelm them with mortgages, bills, health, what have you. I started to challenge their every decision, and upon the tail end of hormone fogged adolescence, came to the conclusion that it wasn’t “just puberty”. Something was up.

God’s don’t bleed, and parents do in both the metaphorical and literal sense (please don’t test the latter for legal and moral reasons). As disconcerting as it is to realise, at the end of the day, your parents are just human. So where does this leave you and your religion of reassurance?

Now there are two sides to this coin; the first, and the most convenient, is to weaponise this little fact for your personal agenda; criticise them, belittle them, exploit their own shortcomings as a person. Who are they to dictate the course of your life? They’re no less of a hot mess than you are, the only difference is they pay more taxes and need more fibre in their diet.

The second, and the more heroic path, is to sympathise with them. So they don’t have it all figured out. Who does? They’re essentially the kid you are right now, trying to hold it all together because they chose to duplicate, which comes with a whole heap of responsibilities. They’ve been through the same shit you have, felt the same emotions, and more importantly, hold the same fear of failure. They may not know best, but they damn well sure want the best for you; something that will be important to remember, especially in the transition from high school to the great beyond.

I won’t lie, practicing what you preach isn’t the easiest of feats. Life would be so much easier if we were in the Gilmore Girls, but unfortunately we don’t live in Stars Hollow, we can’t all be Rory with a dreamboat bf (Team Dean reppin’), and have a Lorelai as a guardian. Unfortunately, life is closer the what Lorelai and her parents have got going on.

In the heat of the proverbial moment, I find myself openly questioning the quality of my father’s education, his general level of intelligence, and his ability to function in the modern world to his face. But then there are those quiet afternoons, after an utterly draining day of work as a waiter, and he’d be in the kitchen waiting to offer me a beer as he reminisces about his terrible days in hospitality way back when. And I guess those moments just make it that much easier.

While your parents have a wealth of experience to offer, some of which you may disagree with, understand that they are coming from a place of good intentions and it’s OK to go your own way. They’re only human, after all.

by Garry Lu