Wednesday 16 July 2014

Parents: the reason we will always be inadequate...

Relax y’all. I love my parents.

In fact, they’re objectively brilliant. I just wish they weren’t so, well – cray. Actually, I lie. I’d probably be more bored than I care to admit if I had a normal family.
See, I thought my parents were the only ones who through their love, make their children feel completely inadequate. Apparently not.
There’s my Egyptian friend from uni. Let’s call her Delilah (Oum Kalthoum is taken). Delilah was studying education. She is now a maths teacher. Her dad felt the need to tell his entire family in Egypt that she was studying to be a ‘Professeur Matematick’ (half French, half hilarious for ‘Mathematics Professor’). He told them she would teach at universities. When she tried to correct him, he grounded her for the night for trying to make her dad look silly.
Delilah has a friend with fake name Talulah. Talulah is pretty and smart (well, pretty smart - forget the 'and' - that was me trying to be nice...). Talulah would come home after an exam ecstatic, and when her parents finally realised their daughter wasn't as morose as usual, they would ask the reason. The conversation would go something like this:
Parents: Talulah, chou beke - laysh mabsouta hayk? 2eraftina (Talulah, what's wrong with you - why are you so happy? You disgust us.)
Talulah: Sorry, I can't stop smiling. You know that Quantum Physics exam I was told to do because I'm the smartest girl in the world? I got 95%.
Dad: Eh? Wayn el 5% el be2yin? Keltiyoun? Men hayk nes7ane? (Yes? Where is the other 5%? Did you eat them? Is that why you're so fat?)
Then there’s Sarah. Well, not Sarah but an equally fun anagram of Sarah. Never mind. Point is, she worked in the family business whilst studying a Masters of Nursing. When a customer asked her what she was studying, her father scolded her for being a liar (in Arabic so the kindly old lady didn’t understand), then came out of his office and told the customer that his daughter was being humble and was ACTUALLY studying medicine. Sarah, being Sarah (or not Sarah – you get the point), smiled and nodded whilst turning the most peculiar shade of purple. Since then, she hasn’t dared tell people of her dishonourable occupation lest she bring ignominy to her family.

My friend Naomi (not even going to bother pointing out her real name isn’t Naomi) has two older brothers, both engineers. It will come as no surprise to those who understand life that people often have no idea she exists. When her dad introduces her (once she’s come out of her dungeon he must in order to avoid suspicion), he tells people that she WAS going to be a world-renowned Arabic/English translator but now teaches Kindergarten. Subtle – don’t sound *too* proud of her, 3amou.

Allow me to re-hash some childhood (and teenage, and adult) trauma here.
I will never forget the anxiety I experienced when receiving my school report. I distinctly remember my dad sitting my siblings and I down and iterating to us just how badly we would fail our HSC if we didn’t work harder. Never has a nine year old been more ready to embrace a lifetime of failure.

My complete and utter catastrophe of an existence was later confirmed when my dad told people I was studying to be a barrister for two years of my degree. Why? Because he had genuinely convinced himself of this false reality. I will give myself some credit when I mention I was smarter than Delilah. I never dared correct him. One day I worked up the courage to clarify that I was actually studying Economics. After the initial (45 minute) denial and confusion, this exchange descended into my dad lecturing me about how only through studying law could I one day have smart children. Now, I may not be an expert in genetics, but something seems odd to me… then again, what would I know?
Another thing I was supposed to inherit from my loving parents was my mother’s fake medical knowledge. I was recently reprimanded for a choice of kettle that mummy told me I should have known would cause heinous illnesses in all who venture to make a cup of tea. Why? It was plastic. I was promptly sent back to the shops to return the ailment-causing kettle and purchase a device that would not kill my friends slowly. In the same way I flee from the horror of burnt toast and make sure never to drink hot beverages with cold food, I did not dare defy her.

Let’s be serious though, underneath their not-so-subtle condemnation of anything we do, there is that incomparable love that means they cannot see their children do anything that isn’t spectacular. I’ll never forget my mum hunting down the altar servers when I was a kid in order for her to show me off by asking them to give me a reading in mass. I’ll never forget my dad teaching me at 4½ years old to march over to the ‘7amir’ (moron) and ‘demand’ (“demand habibi, demand, because people like you only ask nicely once”) my change when I came back crying saying the man at the service station had short-changed me 50c. These are moments that inspired me to hold my head up high and know that no matter what, I have the kind of support behind me that others wouldn’t dare dream about.  
Of all the criticisms I receive, I have a favourite. I know I’m not alone in that whenever we do something wrong or embarrassing, one of my parents is quick to attribute this quality to the other parent:
“Fi matel b 2oul, li khalaf ma met” (there is an expression – he who has children never dies) – well, I hope so. I don’t think I could ever be THAT kind of amazeballs.


They're smiling now... but don't be fooled. I'm sure this came
after a 'tough love' lesson of some kind!