Tuesday, January 31, 2006

My parents are never going to understand. If they ever find out the truth – they’ll hate me. I know that much already, even if they don’t. My parents are always telling me how they’re not perfect, how they make mistakes, too, blah, blah, blah…. But then they turn around and act like they know everything about everything and I’m just some stupid little kid who doesn’t even understand what’s going on around him.

Well, surprise, I’m not stupid. I knew when they were having marriage problems long before they told me they were splitting up. And I knew that Dad wanted Mom back before he’d admit it to anybody, even himself.

Now that they’re back together, my parents are acting like everything that happened last year was this hiccough, and now we can all go back to being this happy, picture perfect family. You know, the kind that prompts other people to gush, “Oh, we admire you so much and aren’t you just wonderful, how do you do it all?”

My mom likes for people to believe that everything is fine. And Dad goes along, because what makes Mom happy always comes first with him. Always.

They say they’ll always love me, even if I’m not perfect. But they’re imagining dumb crap like me failing a class, or crashing the family car, or forgetting to come home in time to baby-sit my sisters. They’re thinking about stuff that I might do. Stuff that can be fixed.

This is different. This is about who I am.

And I don’t think I’m fixable.