Through these Eyes Part 27

PAGE 140

Chapter 20 Eleventh Grade

"I was always reminded of a tea kettle filled with boiling water which had to let off steam or explode; had I been unable to "blow-it-out," my emotions would have strained violently against my being, and while a shattered teapot could be replaced, sanity was less easily restored."

CHAPTER TWENTY

Eleventh Grade

Adolescence is an explosive age wherein change is an intrinsic factor.

One begins to weigh the significance of specific values in an attempt to discover which values shall be given foremost importance in life.

There are numerous trials and errors, and many lessons are learned through failure or fear. An elder's words of wisdom are not always sufficient to curb the pangs of rebellion; the youth wishes to use his own mind to dictate that which he shall experience rather than to live through the vision of greater knowledge.

With the onset of 11th grade, I had gained enough confidence to pursue my version of parental rebellion which, compared to my characteristic desire to please and meld, baffled and then concerned my mom and dad.

Disputes generally centered on minor details such as curfew, yet progressed to include whose company I could keep and which events I could attend. For the first time in my life, I was trying to make my conflicting views heard. This measure only created misery on all fronts, however, because my father did not welcome variances of opinion. I never yelled in my efforts to ill.u.s.trate my views, for that would have proven disastrous; but despite my steady-voiced a.s.sertions, conversation became more difficult and rendered the family bliss into a sort of haphazard time-bomb. As a result, I began to foster unwanted feelings of intolerance toward little quirks and mannerisms, as often will accompany deeper grievances and unsettled disputes. Instead of accepting the gap of understanding that had evolved, I projected the frustration which came from the impa.s.se upon petty outlets. The little things ate at my mind and aggravated me beyond all reason; I despised myself for allowing such inconsequential details to taint my father's image or turn me from his love.

With my mom, it was different. She allowed me to voice my opinions although they differed from her own. Despite my plea for "freedom " I was choked by the ambivalence of my emotions. I longed for choice yet craved intervention. For example, certain days found me in an unexplainably aggressive state of mind and my anger begged to be given reign over rationality. So perturbed was I with my inner turmoil that sometimes I wished to argue for its own sake, creating an issue to banter back and forth like a volley ball; other times I wanted mom to say "no" and thereby settle a dispute which raged internally, for parental objections were often weightier and less subject to contestation than were personal decisions to forego a particular event.

Of course, there were also those things which I desired to discuss, yet felt compelled to remain hidden from my mom; I knew that to share certain instances would have jeopardized my ability to see many "friends," and although many of those individuals I later decided to avoid, I needed to make the decision on my own.

One person who understood was Norm. It was not so long ago that he had undergone the need for independence, and sympathized with my sometimes over-blown grievances. When I spoke to Norm it seemed that my "problems" dissipated into the wind or became so insignificant that I could easily bear their weight. The changes in my outlook and disposition seemed only fleeting steps to adulthood, rather than imprisoning hours.

In my eyes, Norm's life was a reflection of perfect balance, self-sufficiency and peace of mind. I longed for the day when I too would be able to own a house and make all the choices that were his.

I dreamed of such a life, and it seemed incredible that he would ever seek an alternative. Paradise, however, as well as prison, is in the eye of the beholder.

It no longer seemed of much importance. He could do it, and the knowledge of his initial success was of more worth than continued success. Norm decided to move home.

The divorce had left my brother with half of a house and, in certain respects, half of a life. It was necessary at the time to prove to himself that he could live alone. Therefore, Norm paid for a house and refurbished its interior; he performed all domestic functions while working a 40 hour week; he found mental stimulation through books and occasional personal interaction with friends. Such accomplishments provided a sense of satisfaction; the gradual rebuilding of Norm's physical world complimented the restoration taking place within himself.

Once Norm had finalized his basic dreams in the material sense, however, it grew obvious that the inner rebuilding which still clamored for completion could not be done alone. He was the sole spark of life in a house from which the cobwebs of deceit could never be wiped. But for an attic full of worn out memories, his was an empty house.

Houses, of themselves, do not indenture the heart; thus, without regret or apology, Norm came home.

January was the coldest it had been in years, or so it seemed. To brighten the bl.u.s.tery evening, Norm had invited me to share a pizza with him at his house. I gladly accepted the invitation and spent several pleasant hours staring at a lively fire and talking.

I departed feeling very content, never suspecting his oppressive loneliness. Norm had concealed it from everyone, and it came as somewhat of a surprise to see him standing at the door so soon after saying good-night; loneliness pooled in his eyes and I realized it had filtered deeper than any cursory glance could have perceived.

Personally, I was elated at the prospect of sharing the upstairs with my brother, especially if living at home was what he truly wished.

Several years earlier the arrangement would not have succeeded; then he sought to free himself from the constraints of youth through establishing his own credibility as a functioning part of society. Now he had tasted life's offerings, the sweet and the bitter, and knew that he could alter his happiness through certain changes on his part.

Loneliness was one pain which he had the power to alleviate; his return was a matter of choice, not defeat, and with a clear conscience regarding his desire, pursued his intent. After a.s.suring his welcome, he and I drove to his house so he could secure a parcel of clothing and other necessities for the night.

As one household began to dissolve, the family home eagerly digested the other's former occupant and his belongings. It took several months for Norm's house and major furnishings to be sold, but those objects that he wished to retain were loaded unceremoniously into sacks and stashed in the attic or placed hastily about various parts of the house. A microwave found its station on the bas.e.m.e.nt counter, and shelving provided a haven for his stereo equipment. A handsome recliner stole a living room corner and became known as NORM'S CHAIR; if he entered the room to find HIS CHAIR occupied, he didn't quite know where to sit. It became evident that this home was his home and, with an ample dose of personal interaction and companionship, the emotional wounds had begun to heal.

School was actually fun for me after my tongue lost some of its shy inhibitions and I was able to joke and carry on conversations before cla.s.ses. I joined no extra-curricular activities, however, since I valued free time and generally wished to go home or to a friend's house directly following school. Moreover, I entertained the idea of finding a part-time job, and did not wish to spread myself so thinly over those undertakings which I had deemed to be worthy of my time; I was still a perfectionist, and that ruled even the most rebellious of my whims.

That autumn I obtained employment at a fashionable store in a local shopping mall. I was notably excited since the job promised to be better aligned to my interests than either of my other jobs...

babysitting and a two week stint at a fabric store. The former, I decided, demanded too much of my tolerance and felt I should quit before I was jailed for child abuse. Actually I, the sitter, was the abused party; I would return home after an evening of utter turmoil clenching three dollars in my hand.

On the worst occasion, I was to sit for two children at the end of the avenue. Soon after my arrival I discovered I was sitting for only one child; the other a monster. Inside of three hours he managed to reduce my state of mind to that of a murderess. He disobeyed every request, every order, every threat. He ignored his mother's dictate that specified he could eat no more than two candy bars. After consuming five, the bag of candy went on top of the refrigerator, the sole place in the house which he was unable to reach. The monster, outraged, then proceeded to unshelf every toy he owned and move it into the living room. Afterward, he decided to hide in the closet.

For a brief moment, I was relieved. Seeing this action had an adverse effect on me, in his opinion, he came out, wielding the vacuum cleaner, and tore about the house like a wild thing. His next move, unfortunately, was to raid another closet, from which he carefully selected a bag of rubber bands. These he pinged across the room, firing joyously, until I impeded his efforts. The rubber bands found themselves on the refrigerator.

I looked up. Ten o'clock. Unbelieveable. The parents said they'd be home "around twelve." I took a deep breath and noticed the monster was cackling from some unseen location. Deciding that I should pursue the source of my discontent, I finally found him grinning widely at the door of his bedroom. "I let the gerbils out of their cage," he announced proudly. I rolled my eyes. "Terrific," I replied, lacking any enthusiasm. As I had a gerbil, I was not frightened at the prospect of catching the rodents, but was concerned they might become lost in a couch or any of the thousand other places a gerbil could hide. I immediately dropped to my hands and knees, knowing they generally fled beneath the furniture, and searched the carpet for the tiny animals. Sure enough, they were nervously enjoying their freedom under the bed's protective cover. I succeeded in flushing them into the open, whereupon they were promptly stripped of their liberty and lifted, by way of their tails, into the cage.

I turned out the light and marched into the living room where boy monster and his sister plotted against me behind suspicious smiles.

I sat down and he left the room; not desiring to be surprised, I followed, entering his room just as he was about to unleash one of his gerbils again. "No!" I yelled. He disappeared, leaving the business of finding the gerbil to me; it took a bit longer this time because the mite had escaped to the master bedroom before I could detain it. Once I had the animal by the tail, I returned to the bedroom in time to intercept the monster's second attempt to free his other gerbil.

Determined that no more searches would take place that evening, the gerbil cage also decorated the refrigerator top.

Of course, bedtime was a ch.o.r.e in itself, but one battle which I was determined to win. Through a stroke of luck or a dream realized, the two finally went to sleep, leaving me to blink at the T.V. in a fatigued stupor until I collapsed on the couch.

The parents returned well after two o'clock in the morning to find me slumped where I had fallen several hours earlier; I had earned the sleep, especially under the circ.u.mstances that I endured. Having baby-sat for over seven hours, on which I had not counted, I felt that my brush with insanity would be buffered by a "substantial" payment.

The husband handed me some tightly folded bills and two quarters as I stepped into the night air, and by the feel of the wad, I trusted his integrity and believed that my effort might have been worthwhile, indeed. The "going rate" was at least 75 cents per hour, with the rate increasing to $l.00 or $l.50 for every hour past midnight. I calculated in my mind as I paced toward my house, knowing that I had been gone seven and a half hours, and turned the bills over in my hand with antic.i.p.ation. "A five and maybe a couple of ones. . ." a thought echoed. I opened the door and entered, removed my shoes, and went into the kitchen to see what the light would reveal. Unrolling the bills reverently, I straightened them one by one and put them on the table.

One, two, three, four dollars. . . and fifty cents. I stared silently at the bills, recalling that my minimum payment should have been $5.75.

I felt used and cheated, and frankly, quite insulted. My mom, too, was angry and said I should protest my under-payment, but I was afraid to call "grown-ups" and let the matter drop.

The following week I received a phone call from the mother, requesting that I baby-sit some night that week. I had not honestly let the matter drop, for it had festered in my mind since its occurrence, and bid me forego further a.s.signments with that family. "No," I replied.

A hush ensued, urging me to explain. "I won't... I can't handle your kids." In a diminutive tone, the woman acknowledged my statement and said good-bye; by her response I somehow felt she had just experienced de ja vu. In certain respects, I pitied her, and in others, I pitied the children. The latter would one day rise to discover the world was greater than mother's protective and generous arms could encompa.s.s.

Perhaps the former would one day wonder why she had treated "no" like a word from a foreign language.

Deep inside I believe that humans desire a sense of discipline from youth; guidance a.s.sures a child that his guardians care about his life enough to intervene in areas of possible danger or misdirection.

Discipline commands respect toward oneself and others because it brings order to chaos and reality to life. As I grew and observed my cla.s.smates, I saw those whose parents were not restrictive often led sordid lives. They lied excessively or vulgarly splashed the truth before their parents to openly wound them. I cringed to see such cruel treatment of good people, for these parents had never lived lives similar to their child. At first I was baffled by my cla.s.smates'

apparent hate for their parents, so I compared their lives to my own and discovered that, as children, tantrums and tears produced their desires. I used neither, for neither would have proven effective; "no"

always meant "no" whether referring to a request or given as a disciplinary expression. I respected my mom and dad's authority, which consequently augmented my love for them. This was essentially the differing factor which separated my childhood from that of my friends.

I concluded that their "hate" evolved from a lack of respect combined with the bitterness of leading empty, selfish lives; instead of searching themselves, they blamed their parents for their frustration.

The parents cannot bear the entire burden, however, for each normal human possesses a mind which is quite capable of inviting either positive or negative change into his life.

Discipline is essential for the attainment of maturity, and the sooner one encounters it, or becomes aware of its necessity, the sooner growth can begin. I reflected over my current wish for freedom, and was silently glad that my parents had always voiced appropriate objections toward my sometimes doubtful intentions. No one had ever labeled me a "brat," I mused with satisfaction, so why should I babysit for other people's nightmares?

My first "real" job, for which I filled out an application, was as a clerk in a fabric store. Since my ex-sister-in-law had worked there and because I sewed occasionally and purchased goods at the store, I viewed the place as somewhat of an old friend. That fact did not abate my initial nervousness, however, nor did it serve to reverse my ultimate opinion of the place once its image had steeped in a boiling pot of reality. I liked people, but when people became "customers"

certain nasty transformations often took place. This I quickly learned when, without ample training, I was hurled amid a mob of angry women who had stampeded into the store for the weekly bargains and expected rapid service. Once my nerves were ruffled, I tottered precariously on the edge of tears; I wished to please, but my conscientious att.i.tude could not tolerate overt customer hostility when I was doing my best.

After the cyclone dissipated, I would return bolts of fabric to their various locations; if I did not know where a certain type should be placed, I asked for direction. Inquiry, I reasoned, was better than making rash mistakes. This part of the job, combined with cleaning and general upkeep, became my favorite as I needed not worry about customer interaction or managerial displeasure.

After two weeks, the manager called the three night employees to the counter after closing out the cash register in order to voice some complaints. Because I was the newest employee, he directed many explicit implications toward me, essentially blaming me for numerous misplaced bolts of material which he had gathered throughout the store and brought to the counter. He reported, also, that the money in the register and the amount dictated by the receipts did not coincide; "someone," he said, "has been short changing customers." He looked at me. "Laurie, you've got to be more accurate and speed up." When the speech was over and the misplaced cloth returned, we all fled from the store; company morale, I previously learned, had suffered under this manager. I reached my car and, once inside, let go of the frustrations and hurt that had multiplied since the job began, letting myself cry freely, without restraint. The blame, I felt, was unwarranted. The a.s.sistant manager had told me earlier that week that I was doing fine.