Whose daughter was I?
Coming from divorced parents, I was obsessed with this question. It was a tough
question. Did I want to be more like Dad or more like Mom? It was not possible
to have two life styles that were further apart. The bottom line was, “Who had it right?”
My father was an old school, strict and tough, highly self-disciplined man. There were no hugs or wiping away of childhood tears for his children. A conservative Republican, he was interested in politics, newspapers, and work. He pushed my brother and I to do more, improve what was mediocre, and never—never—talk back or root for the underdog. Pick a winner. Intelligent and responsible, he had little tolerance for opinions that differed from his own. In short: My dad was the straight man who demanded obedience and respect from his children. His unspoken mantra was FOLLOW THE RULES AND YOU’LL BE RESPONSIBLE AND SUCCESSFUL.
Such was not the case with my liberal mother. Time had little meaning for her and if she had an opportunity for adventure, all bets were off; she would miss work and go on the adventure. She spent years away from my brother and me while she hitchhiked around the United States seeking new and different cultures, jobs, people, and points of view. A flower child of extraordinary intelligence, she had no interest in discipline or parenting. She wanted to be my friend. Peculiar, unpredictable, and unbelievably well read; cultural norms irritated her. She hid my Christmas presents and told me that Santa was sick and the Easter Bunny had to pick up the slack. She also had two active warrants for her arrest when she died. Her unspoken mantra was BREAK THE RULES AND BE FREE, YOU’LL BE HAPPIER.
I had to decide which parent was right and which was wrong. Both claimed that their parenting techniques were superior—one abysmally old school and the other radically new age.
I mucked around for years, first being irresponsible but creative, open-minded, and up for any adventure that rolled my way. I was all over the place; I wouldn’t pay my bills, missed work, and more than once I stuck my thumb out to get to where I needed to be. I discovered that I hate instability.
It was time to try the other style on for size.
I went to college and earned a bachelor’s degree, worked seven days a week, paid my bills, and had money in savings. I also stopped writing poetry and short stories, stopped going out dancing, stopped singing with the radio, and passed up every adventure that threatened to flag me down. I was one hundred percent responsible but had forgotten how to laugh.
Feeling despondent and confused for years, the enlightenment finally came all at once. Why do I have to choose one lifestyle over another—why can’t I be responsible and peculiar at the same time?
Whoa. Hold up . . . this could work!
Fifteen years later, I am a published novelist, paint in acrylics, go on adventures, and look for washed up treasure on the New Jersey shoreline. I am also self-disciplined, carry mace, never miss an appointment, have set meal times, and pay all of my bills.
Whose daughter am I? I am a blended kaleidoscope of herbs and spices from both of my parents. I am “me” and I am happy.
My father was an old school, strict and tough, highly self-disciplined man. There were no hugs or wiping away of childhood tears for his children. A conservative Republican, he was interested in politics, newspapers, and work. He pushed my brother and I to do more, improve what was mediocre, and never—never—talk back or root for the underdog. Pick a winner. Intelligent and responsible, he had little tolerance for opinions that differed from his own. In short: My dad was the straight man who demanded obedience and respect from his children. His unspoken mantra was FOLLOW THE RULES AND YOU’LL BE RESPONSIBLE AND SUCCESSFUL.
Such was not the case with my liberal mother. Time had little meaning for her and if she had an opportunity for adventure, all bets were off; she would miss work and go on the adventure. She spent years away from my brother and me while she hitchhiked around the United States seeking new and different cultures, jobs, people, and points of view. A flower child of extraordinary intelligence, she had no interest in discipline or parenting. She wanted to be my friend. Peculiar, unpredictable, and unbelievably well read; cultural norms irritated her. She hid my Christmas presents and told me that Santa was sick and the Easter Bunny had to pick up the slack. She also had two active warrants for her arrest when she died. Her unspoken mantra was BREAK THE RULES AND BE FREE, YOU’LL BE HAPPIER.
I had to decide which parent was right and which was wrong. Both claimed that their parenting techniques were superior—one abysmally old school and the other radically new age.
I mucked around for years, first being irresponsible but creative, open-minded, and up for any adventure that rolled my way. I was all over the place; I wouldn’t pay my bills, missed work, and more than once I stuck my thumb out to get to where I needed to be. I discovered that I hate instability.
It was time to try the other style on for size.
I went to college and earned a bachelor’s degree, worked seven days a week, paid my bills, and had money in savings. I also stopped writing poetry and short stories, stopped going out dancing, stopped singing with the radio, and passed up every adventure that threatened to flag me down. I was one hundred percent responsible but had forgotten how to laugh.
Feeling despondent and confused for years, the enlightenment finally came all at once. Why do I have to choose one lifestyle over another—why can’t I be responsible and peculiar at the same time?
Whoa. Hold up . . . this could work!
Fifteen years later, I am a published novelist, paint in acrylics, go on adventures, and look for washed up treasure on the New Jersey shoreline. I am also self-disciplined, carry mace, never miss an appointment, have set meal times, and pay all of my bills.
Whose daughter am I? I am a blended kaleidoscope of herbs and spices from both of my parents. I am “me” and I am happy.
Michelle Ridlon
Author of “The Feeding Path”
Author of “The Feeding Path”
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