The Invasion of the Parentals

I’m about to sound ungrateful, which I’m sure el radio dude and compadres would think is fitting of me, but I’m generally a very grateful person. So, what’s eating at me? Kind of a long story.

Well, I’ve been working on genealogy recently. This is something I enjoy doing, but it’s something I’ve had to work on on my dad’s computer because he has the most up-to-date file. My dad DECIDED that I should put it on my laptop. (My laptop being the one that does not connect to the internet in this house, thus making further research IMPOSSIBLE.) Well, it took him a few weeks to find the one that works with Vista in his little spot where he keeps all the discs. (He even tries to keep all of my discs, because I’m irresponsible and lose things.)

I installed it last night, and my dad asks me where my flash drive is so he can give me the family file off his computer. I tell him that I lost my disk. He berates me for my irresponsibility. (I paid for the disk, so if anyone should be pissed at me, it should be me.) He then reminds me of a year and a half ago when I lost a memory card for my camera. (Another thing that I bought.) This is proof that I am irresponsible.

Then, he decides that during the middle of a thunderstorm, he will connect my new laptop to the network via a network cable. This pisses me off because one does not pay $3k on a laptop to have it fry because her father can’t get rid of a file fast enough. He also goes through MY stuff while he’s trying to do this and rearranges MY CDs, putting some where they will fall in the floor. (If I put my CDs where they will fall in the floor, I get reminded of how irresponsible I am.) When I explain to him how uber protective I am of my new computer, he gets pissed; forgetting that he is the person who always taught me that in the middle of a storm, I’m supposed to unplug my computer from anything that could fry it because computers are expensive and we don’t have the money to go around replacing them every time a storm hits. Eventually, I get it across to him that I want to wait on moving the files over.

This morning, after I go to bed a second time in the last 12 hours, my mom goes through my stuff where I keep my books to find the flash drive. Admittedly, I don’t keep the books all stacked nice and neat, but no one in my immediate family does that. Well, I wake up and I cannot find my glasses because my laptop has been moved and I keep my glasses on top of my laptop. My Bible is right where Gretchen jumps up and looks out the window, thus meaning that the Quad that I have spent almost $100 on will most likely be dirty and ripped up because my irresponsible place that I kept it was too dangerous and it should be placed in the path of a hyperactive dog. My books were put on a bookshelf across the room by my father, along with DVDs that I was keeping next to the laptop because I was watching them on my laptop. My screwed up headphones (because I’m too irresponsible for NICE headphones; keep in mind I inherited them in a semi-broken state from my father) are in a plastic bag somewhere.

When I get a little pissed, my mom quickly apologizes, and it seems like she didn’t want to go through my stuff. (My dad probably convinced her to because she understands that I don’t like having my stuff rifled through.) My dad tells me how my books were falling apart, which is UNTRUE! He starts telling me of my irresponsibility, and how “books go on bookshelves”, so dad, if you’re reading this: tonight, after you go to bed, don’t be surprised if I decide to go to your spot and rearrange all your stuff because you leave books off the shelves, you can’t find discs that you want to be responsible for, etc. If I’m allowed to have my life rifled through because of my irresponsibility, don’t act like you’re surprised when YOUR stuff is gone through.

Seriously, it’s not my paranoia and schizo-spectrum stuff that is eating at me on this one. I don’t think ANYONE would want a spot they keep stuff gone through without their permission. I know somewhere in their hearts, my parents had good intentions, but does it take that much time or energy to ASK if I want them to do this? I tell my parents I don’t like being touched, they touch me. I tell them (and have since I was a little kid) that I don’t like my stuff being touched, they touch it…worse, they MOVE it. They look through my things and try to find out what I do with my dad. I’ve ALWAYS been private, mainly because I’ve always been paranoid. My mom, who also has paranoia, should especially understand that I do NOT want anyone to look at my stuff and move it around. She would have a fit if I did the same to her, and my dad would probably kill me if I did it to him. So, why don’t I deserve the same respect? It’s my house and I’m the one treated like some kind of lout that can’t be trusted.

About Janet Morris

I'm from Huntsville, Alabama. I've got as many college credits as a doctorate candidate, and the GPA of some of them, too. I have a boss by the name of Amy Pond. She's a dachshund. My parents both grew up in Alabama.