Michelle Tanaka
Professor Jesse Jones
English 101, Section 53
11 September 2015
The Past Isn’t the Future
Growing up as an only child in a middle class family in sunny San Diego, I was quite spoiled. As far as a little girl was concerned I had quite the array of possessions and whatever I asked for I got. Heck, I even got stuff I didn’t ask for. Barbie had her mansion, townhouse and corvette as well as a wardrobe that would make a wealthy fashionista envious. My closet and clothes dresser were filled with name brand clothing, no hand-me-downs for this girl. But it was never enough, I always wanted more. Always wanting the latest, greatest, whatever.
“But Christie has the newer, better version of this doll!” I would whine. “I want the one that Christie has!”
“Honey, the doll I just recently bought you is just as good.” My mother would respond.
In fact, I figured as long as Mom & Dad had checks they had all the money in the world. Even though being raised a Jehovah’s Witness, my parents didn’t shortchange in giving me pretty much everything I wanted. Perhaps it was to make up for the fact that I never got to celebrate my birthday or Christmas, I just know I had more toys than Jelly Belly had flavors.
I was also extremely selfish with my belongings. Sharing was not a word in my vocabulary yet I expected others to share with me and if they didn’t I turned into a little brat. I was like a tiny Genghis Khan holding tyranny over not only my toys but playtime. It got to
where kids didn’t want to play with me or have me over because I wasn’t pleasant to have around.
In order to earn some money, so that it might seed some responsibility, accountability and being able to buy my own stuff, my Mom tried giving me chores. It was like pulling teeth, I didn’t want to do any of that. Why did I want to do any of that when there were more interesting things I could be doing; like just hanging out and listening to the newest album by so & so.
“I don’t want to do my chores, Mother!” I would complain. “I want to go riding my bike down to the playground!”
“You can go when you finish and not before.” Mother would state. “If you worked as much as you complained you would be finished by now and happily on your way.”
Eventually, with sheer reluctance, the chores would get done but always it left a bitter taste in my mouth.
Do you think this story gets any better heading into my teenage years? Not really, in fact it got a whole lot worse. My attitude was completely out of control, I had no respect for my mother, who by this time had been raising me alone for quite a few years as my dad had sort of went MIA after their divorce. I was hanging with the wrong crowd, smoking cigarettes, alcohol and drugs had now weaved their way into my lifestyle. I was shop-lifting, skipping school, stealing cash from whoever I could, whenever I could get away with it. My mother was at her wits end with what to do with me for it was only going to be a matter of time before I ended up in juvenile hall.
By this time my father was sort of back in the picture so my mother would take the opportunity to send me his way because she didn’t know what to do with me.
But things would always be a lot more lenient living with him, especially if he was single. No curfews, able to sleep as late as I want, going to school was not enforced, I was running free & easy. Then he met my current step-mom and things changed very drastically. All the sudden there were all these rules implanted, curfews cracking down on me, going to school. Ugh! None of that for me!
“If you don’t want to be in class then homeschooling it will be for you. You want to go out Friday night then you have to stay home on Saturday night or vice versa.” My new step-mom would proclaim. “And if your grades are failing then you won’t go out at all.”
I retorted back “You’re kidding me, right? You expect me to follow all these rules when I been doing pretty much what I want? This is utterly ridiculous!”
From there the arguing started and it would just get worse. If I wasn’t allowed to go out I would sneak out. It came to the point where one night I decided not to come home. That turned into the whole weekend and by the time Dad & step-mom got hold of me they had had enough and proceeded to ship me back to my mother who, by this time, had gotten married and was very involved with my step-dad.