Gum!

I boarded the train and sat down. As I stretched out for my morning nap on the train, I felt a tell tale sticky feeling on my shoe. Gum! Nasty, lazy people.

It doesn’t help that I slept pretty bad last night. I am plagued by dreams of my parents, which I dreamt of again last night. The dream vanished upon waking but I was left with the feeling that my parents were reaching out to me and I was evading them.

You see, my parents, Mr. And Mrs. Potato (where else would a Hashbrown come from?) are bad potatoes. We have had several disagreements that have lead to the current estrangement. They are numerous and range from stupid to theological. Over the years, the rift grows and I am weary of my perpetual mourning and longing for my parents.

I once was a good potato until college. Damn liberal arts! My parents are conservative, Catholic, republicans who believe in blending in to the majority. I hit 18 and wander off to college and seven years later emerge:
1. As a liberal democrat
2. As a dyke who is active in gay civil rights campaigns
3. With a manly flat top and no dress in sight
4. As a vegetarian
5. Having dated outside my race
6. With the knowledge that I am a survivor

As I was sorting through all these changes, my parents clung tighter and tighter to their image of what I am supposed to be, heterosexual, married to a white man, having many children, Catholic, conservative republican, meat eating, and beautiful in the manner which is accepted by society. I destroyed this false image of me completely 6 years ago when I announced my engagement to my blushing bride, Peaches. Mr. and Mrs. Potato came to visit us to disrupt our engagement but failed. They saw me for who I am now and they refused (quite hurtfully and meanly) to come to our wedding. This shattered what was left of an already strained relationship.

Now, I am gathering the shards of what once held my parents and me together. I am haunted by what to do with all of these broken pieces. Do I try again to mend it and get along with them, being the good, dutiful daughter? Do I throw these pieces in the nearest dumpster and never look back? Do I tell them just how hurtful their behavior has been to me and Peaches? Or do I keep holding these shards, my heart endlessly bleeding and hurt by these sharp edges? I do not take this decision lightly and have employed a very wise therapist to accompany me through this decision.

I am left dreaming of them often while I wrestle with this horrible decision. And this morning, instead of looking straight at my decision, I direct all my frustration at the fucker who dropped his/her gum on the floor that is now stuck to the bottom of my shoe. It is much easier.