i feel as though my history gets rewritten every time i go home. i listen to my history told in stories and it sounds unlike anything i remember and is certainly in conflict to the stories i heard before. it is frustrating. i start questioning my own memory, my own thoughts. i adore my mother and my family but i am afraid that one of us has history wrong and i pray that it is not me who doesn’t remember the details that i experienced. i don’t understand why this happens.

in addition to rewritten history, i find that my family doesn’t seem to know who i am, nor do i think they actually want to know the “real” me. my mom actually told my grandparents that i am not liberal. me??? not liberal??? since when??? so i asked for a definition of liberal and she told me that their (the grandparents’) definition of liberal was different than mine. i asked for an explanation of what they defined as liberal. she said that their definition was “bra-burning, nudist, foul-mouthed, no class, gay” types. hmm… this seems to be a pretty good definition of how i view myself. but apparently they prefer to think differently. i don’t think i can win so i don’t bother fighting it.

to make matters worse, these conversations all occurred at a super-ritzy restaurant (prided on being 5 star) on long island. ok. the waiters were all “colored” and all of the diners were obviously wealthy. they followed every stereotypical rule of dress-up and class (except me, who was wearing a dress – forced by my mother – and sneakers – the only shoes i have – and makeup – also requested by my mother). combined with my short haircut, i was obviously not a part of the restaurant’s expectation (and people stared to make it obvious). supporting this environment made me so uncomfortable. but, again, i had no choice. 🙁

i wonder how long i can handle this type of bullshit? hmm…