My Parents Failed To Advise Me Better…

mother-and-daughter-1950s(1)


Growing up can be tough especially if you are an only child. Therefore it is vital that you get the best advice out there. In the time before the phrase ‘google it’ was invented advice fell solely at the mercy of your parents. You had to close your eyes and pray that what they told you was sound enough to get you through the most toughest formative years of your life. Unfortunately in my case my parents where most definitely not doing their job properly. And I found myself in situations that I was not equipt to handle because my parents failed to advise me better.

My mom grew up on a farm on the plains of Ohio no doubt much like those girls from ‘The Little House on The Praire.’ And my dad grew up in what could best be described as a village on the tiny island of Cyprus in the mediterranean. He mentions from time to time that he only had one pair of shoes while growing up. A story that always finishes with… “and I came to America and conquered.” I would just like to say that I feel quite inadequate with my life’s acheivements (none to date) compared to my Dad’s. But that is another story. The two of them together equalled a tag team of village folk from the days of yester year. Where conversing about sex, where babies came from, periods, boys, personal grooming, money, and any other intimate important topic in life was just not the vogue thing to talk about. However, I am very well versed at every piece of cutlery used at a fancy dinner table as well as knowing one should never put their elbows on said table.

I would get the general lectures of you have to study harder, clean up your room, and stop wearing black nail polish. That last one came from my dad who thought it was the colour of witches or satan or something. Who knew with him. Other things such as crashing into cars was fine and hardly no reaction came out, but black nail polish threw him over the edge! That and if my mom and I started arguing when he was sitting down relaxing watching TV after a long day at work. He would go bananas. No matter what the case was I never got an explanation as to why I was told to do things. I just had to abide by what they said because they said so

“Babies come from a mommy and daddy.” I looked at my mom blankly as she tried to explain. Pretty much like…
are-you-done
“It is when a mommy and daddy fall in love and after they get married they kiss and a little while later a baby comes. That’s it sweetheart.” she said as she looked down at me. I just nodded. At the time it was a satisfying answer. I was 6! What the hell did I know. But I can tell you, for the longest time I thought that if you kissed a boy a baby would come. Thanks mom for that one.

The lack of advice continued when I got my period for the first time. I was in the middle of my ice skating lesson. I told my mom that something felt wrong so she took me to the bathroom. As I looked down to my horror, I repeat, my HORROR! I thought my insides were dying and that’s why I had a murder scene in my pants. No one gave me a pre-warning! Nothing! I called my mom over and said “LOOK!!!!” And do you know what she did? She smiled and said “Oh hunny you are now a woman! Congratulations!” And then she hugged me. I was like WTF is going on?! If this is what being a woman was all about then I wanted no part in it. I later found out that I would get this fucking masacre in my pants ever month until I was like 55. And to top it off, those were the days of massive thick, ginormous pads. Imagine having such a thing down there. Every month I had to waddle around for 2 days like I was John Wayne, cursing god that I was a woman while trying to make sure that monstrosity stayed put down there. It was a disaster. It was only through school, a year later that I got the whole run down of sex, periods, babies and all that. My mom never discussed it again.

Aside from the major things in life, there were other things such as grooming that I had no clue about. I didn’t know when to start shaving my legs. I just started copying other girls in my class. When they did something then I started doing the same thing. But what no one told me was that I had to put soap and water prior to shaving. So my first shaving attempt resulted in razor burns and sore skin for several days. I’m sure you can just picture little me waddling around with sore red scraped legs.

I also knew that other girls were tweezing their eyebrows. But of course my mother was not there again to save me from my over plucking addiction. To top it off I would always finish the look by using tiny scissors. After hacking my way through them the final outcome looked like a spikey crew cut. I was officially the G.I. Jane of eyebrows. Butch, hairless, and a candidate for the military; sounds fabulous doesn’t it.  If only I was brave enough to find an old photo to show you guys. This whole eyebrow bullshit has now resulted in a lifetime of penciling them in. They have yet to grow back properly FYI… I suppose I shouldn’t even talk about my attempts to make my va-jay-jay look better. I now make it look as presentable as possible, quickly turning off the lights and hoping for the best. I opt to distracting my potential suitors by moaning and smacking my boobs around. Men seem to not be able to focus on several things at once so I use that to my advantage. And if all else fails I play with their ugly balls…

I had to figure everything out on my own. And as I figured things out I also had to alter my already skewed ideas due to the false tellings from my parents. To tell you the truth, I am actually really fucking surprised that I made it this far. My upbringing was that of leprauchans, unicorns and rainbows. I wasn’t aware that people could be mean, or about boys trying to get in your pants, or about money, or about tweezing, or waxing or keeping your virginity. I was floating around like a little oompa loumpa thinking the world was all roses. I obviously am not like that anymore. In fact I’m at the complete other end of the spectrum now. A synical old bitch.

My parents are still there, avoiding conversations and pretending that all is right in the world. Ah, what can I say… I love them to bits. How could I not! Even if they did really stunt my development. Being the naive slow kid was not a good look, let me tell you.

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