Monday, August 16, 2010

Project 365: Day 15 - Home......

Despite the occasional phone throwing, foot stomping, "I hate you" bombs my parents endured when I was a teenager, we have always remained a tight knit family. I come from a fairly dysfunctional southern family, west of Atlanta where dysfunctional and southern usually go hand in hand. Although some would like to call it crazy and redneck. I prefer dysfunctional and southern. It makes it sound a bit more "proper". And in the south, it's all about being proper, or at least trying to "claim" proper in some way.

I truly love my family, my very large family, including about 186 cousins. It's funny how in the south, anytime you talk about your family, a cousin always has to make it into the story somehow. And for my family, that's not very difficult. And in this town, growing up, there was always two degrees of separation between you and everyone else in the county.

But still, I love where I grew up, even if I did run like hell when I was old enough to get away from that town. You spend your teenage years wishing you could be anywhere but where you grew up. You just knew that there was real life "out there" somewhere, bubbling with energy and vibrating with amazement. You knew that as soon as you were old enough, you were releasing the grip this old town had on you, closing your eyes and letting the city pull you in like a powerful magnet. You would dream of finding a studio apartment you could share with a complete stranger you met by tearing a piece of fringe from a homemade roommate wanted sign. You would become the best of friends and explore this new vibrant city together taking it by storm. Weathering it with ignorant confidence and naive drunkenness.

At least that's how you would imagine it at the age of 17, when you're tired of high school boys, you're itching so badly for something new in your life that you're skin's becoming raw, and you and your mom fight like teenage sisters sharing a room. I tend to make colorful the stories that would seem rather dull if told by someone else, but in this case, the color is true and bold. I experienced my teenage years with wonderful parents. I know that now. But try to tell me at 15, 16, 17 and I'd look at you like you just swallowed poop and enjoyed it. Yeah, that's how crazy I'd think you were. But being a parent makes everything I did or every way I behaved as a teenager seem so comical now. And I image that's exactly how my mom felt too when she looked at her young children and remembered back when she was a teenager. (and if I'm wrong, I'm sure she'll tell me tomorrow after she reads this)

But alas, even after all the anger, the embarrassment, the wanting to run away as fast as I could, I wouldn't trade going back home for a weekend visit for all the cities in the world. There is no where else in the universe that I could feel as comfortable and as safe as I do when I'm back home.

Thanks for enduring me this weekend, mom and dad.

15 of 365: has nothing to do with my post, but it WAS taken at my parent's house (so it counts)..

Good Night All!