I had gone to ROTC basic training camp for 4 weeks in the summer when I was 20. It was grueling and character building and I copped out of a few things and carried the guilt around for a long time. Still, looking back, I have a lot to be proud of, but it’s my nature to focus on the negative aspect and never look at the positive. I had no freedom those 4 weeks and was so happy to be home. It was my 21st birthday. My parents were going to take me to the Country Club for dinner and my mom wanted me to wear a dress. I didn’t want to wear a dress, and she was insisting on it. I remember the frustration I felt as I sat there saying I didn’t want to wear a dress. And really, who’s birthday was it, anyway? She was always more concerned about how I looked...how I made her look, to her friends and others. That’s got to be what that was about. I exploded. I lunged from my chair and cleared a shelf, throwing books and knick-knacks onto the floor as I screamed, “Help me!!” My Dad, feeling helpless, walked over to me and threw his soda in my face and said, “Help yourself.” I guess he thought he was showing me tough love. It was so pitiful. I ran out of the house and sat between carports for a while.
When I came back in I went straight to my room and sat on the floor. My Dad came in and sat on the floor next to me. That was a first. He comforted me in a way I had never experienced with him. But my Mom never came in, nor did she apologize. We never talked about it and I don’t even remember if we went to the Club for dinner or what I ended up doing for my 21st birthday.
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