Wednesday, February 13, 2008
there is nothing like the moment (s) of realization that your "apple" fell and got wedged between the roots of your parent's "tree".
growing up, i detested taking aeroplane trips (anywhere, for any reason) with my family, and not because our luggage "allowance" was closer to the population of china, than of 2 adults/2 kids. the pre-departure ritual involved my usually laid back father turning into the travel militia; snapping fingers, barking orders, and asking if we had packed x/y/z while we were trying to sit and quietly watch cartoons. of course, my wonderfully anally retentive mother always packed everything 5 hours prior, folding our clothing in ways that would make the people working at benetton weep. ironically, dad is (in)famous for only packing 3 pairs of underpants, shorts, and running shoes for 2 weeks in spain. my theory is that he could not tolerate seeing his family sitting; waiting to leave somewhere (again).
fast forward, oh, 30-something years. now i get apprehensive about going to the airport, but that is more attributed to turbulence, terrorists and technical difficulties. but when it comes time for me to separate/leave/end any situation, i start to recognize a very familiar; must-keep-busy-and-moving-don't-stop-or-sit-at-any-costs energy.
i have always teased my dad that the only thing i inherited from him was flat feet and myopia. my mother will be delighted to learn that i can blame some of my non-genetic childhood issues on him for a change. and now i am (in)famous for being the person who has forgotten to pack her knickers for a 2 week trip; twice.