The Contingency Plan

At one point during Charlie's recent wedding, she rose to the podium and delivered a speech that included plenty of praise for her parents for raising her the 'right' way. So like all things, I thought about it and then brought it back to myself - would I say the same thing about my folks?

When I was younger I was desperately envious of parents like Charlie's. Normal, loving and undramatic, they were the kind who gave their children middle names like Jane or Anne, wore non-descript clothing, actually read books and could hold a conversation without saying something dreadfully out of place in a wierd accent.

My small Christian primary school was full of them. None of the mothers wore midrift tops, crimped hair, false eyelashes, had fake boobs or made fish head soup with tofu for dinner. Their fathers didn't play the banjo, smuggle knuckle dusters from overseas to join his collection of swords, have a weakness for Guiness and go to church. And the normal mothers didn't coerce their children into dying their hair... in kindergarten, or make them wear mini skirts and over the knee suede leather boots... to church.

I really fought with my mum about the boots. They were black, flat with absolutely no heel and sat just above my knee, so yes, they were fuck me boots that cost her over $200, which was a lot in those days. Mum had the opinion that 'if you've got it, flaunt it'. She loved my legs so I should show them off.

I hated it though. I was eleven and just wanted to fit in. Cast aside were my favourite outfits - navy and white sailor suit, tartan skirt with matching jacket and gold buttons - and in in their place were these outrageous boots and a teeny black lycra skirt. Like a miniature Asian version of Pretty Woman. Not satisfied with making me wear them to family functions and dinners, Mum made me wear them to school plays and church. Yay, you can already see me fitting in.

But I learnt from a young age that my family and I didn't fit in. We hung out a lot with the Christian crowd so they had to accept us as part of the faith, but I could easily tell that's often as far as it went. Although she tried so hard, Mum never achieved closeness with the conservative clique and sure as hell couldn't go near any of the men for friendship. I was often pitied and more than once became the object of improvement from a well meaning yet totally close-minded woman.

And as a result I started to feel embarrassed and ashamed of my family's eccentricities. I went through a very long phase of befriending the daughters of the do-gooders as I loved going to their tidy and structured homes, complete with their meat and three vege dinners at seven, professional parents and bedtime stories, but always felt horribly uncomfortable. I belonged with the crazies.

Although I managed to retire the black boots when I was around 13, Mum never stopped trying to force her opinion. And despite wearing 'boring' clothes she cursed, I did let loose when I finished high school.

Out of rebellion towards her I became a good, boring, academic student at school. She told me of her drug experiences as a teen so I didn't go near the stuff, she wore revealing clothes so I didn't, she wanted me to skip school so I wouldn't, wherever she went she instantly drew attention from men and I refused to date anyone during high school (not just because of her, guys were terrifed of me due to Dad).

In many ways I was still dying to seem normal and one of the crowd (by conservative standards) but for my last school event, I wanted to break free of this mould, and in fact of any mould.

I searched through clothing stores Sydney wide for days and eventually found a dress in a high-end boutique that fit perfectly. The owner and designer was visiting when I tried it on and loved me in it so much that he tailored it to my exact proportions for free. Black and slinky, it was a short, backless halter-neck number that had a plunging neckline which stopped just above my belly button. I teamed it with a pair of black stillettos, long, straight, jet black hair and dark smokey make up.

And people's shock when I arrived was palpable.

When it came time to enter the venue I walked past a group of parents who had come to take photos and even though I stood taller than most of them, I felt so small when one of the mothers pulled me aside and offered me a safety pin for the top of my dress. My tiny breasts were well hidden under the dress so I was quite surprised.

Finally through with struggling and trying to conform to people's expectations I smiled and thankfully refused her suggestion.

I knew I was still a good, ambitious and intelligent girl but could no longer deny I was also my mother's daughter.

In a similar speech to Charlie's I don't think I would thank my parents for bringing me up the 'right' way. No, I gained far more from my parents teaching me how to walk with confidence when I'm scared, to be proud of who I am (even if the major of people don't agree with it) and giving me an open mind that doesn't move quickly to judge people but simply find out who they are.

And I'm quite happy with that.

Oh, that's such a touching story. I wonder if any of the other girls were secretly envious of your mother's attitudes towards clothes and makeup. Especially when we're kids, the grass always seems greener on the other side of the fence.

And so you should be happy. You seem like a fantastic and interesting person to me!

I thought more about this post yesterday afternoon.

What I also wanted to add is that we hope to pass on the "good" qualities of our family upbringing to our kids and of course not the "bad" ones. I fondly remember family picnics, trips to Grandma's, holidays, good dinners etc. But there's part of my childhood I would not care for my kids to experience. Plus of course, not create any new traumatic experiences. But the thing is, you don't know what small events the kids are going to remember for the rest of their lives.

That is absolutely awesome!

The grass is always greener, I would've killed for a mom that forced me to wear "cool" clothes.

What is your ethnicity? Japanese/Australian?

Wow, I've been mulling this story over in my head for awhile. I felt like I was reading from a novel.

Parents have such a strong and strange influence on their children. I think you're right, we can only try to extract the best nuggets of wisdom from them. And adapt them to our own collection of life philosophies... which can be really hard sometimes.

You've handled it the best possible way, I would have to say!

Thanks everyone for your comments :)) Such a lovely bunch you are!!

I don't know whether anyone was envious of my mother growing up. Perhaps in high school but definitely not in primary school. She was too controversial back then. I agree with everyone though, I know she did the best with what she knew and I can't ask for more than that.

Ah. I hope I'm not confusing too many people with my screen name. I'm not Japanese. I was going through a BIG "I love all things Japanese/Harajuku when I started this blog, which is why I gave myself a Japanese first name but an anglo surname. I'm actually half Chinese, half Scottish but was born and raised here in Australia. I looked really Japanese when I was a girl. Not sure about now though??

what a beautiful sentiment...