Brian's World

Vermont

Good day blog,
Today I write to you from Vermont, the small town of Ludlow. (All towns are small in Vermont if you ask me) But today, I was, and still am, rather frustrated, mad, grred, and upset that I’m here. Vermont has never been a place I enjoy going, but my parents insist on taking us.

My parents bought a house up here a few years ago (11?) and we’ve been coming here ever since. The house has 2 floors, 2 bathrooms, enough beds to call it a shelter, cable TV, and phone service. It lacks it’s on computer and internet access. (A laptop and dial up resolve the last two issues). During the winter we rent it out to skier people.

I hate coming up here for several reason. To start, this house has always been away from things. It’s away from cities, away from the town, away from people, and away from my friends. My parents enjoy the peace and quiet that comes with this “awayness”, personally I like a little action here or there. For those of you that say South Hadley is a small boring town, you haven’t been up here. Constantly we come up to this house forcing me to leave my friends for weekend, or sometimes weeks at a time. Unfortunately I know this has corroded several good friendships. When you’re always leaving Friday afternoon, and not coming home until Sunday afternoon, people stop calling for you to do things, knowing you’re probably away.

This house is the home to the place where I go when things are going on. More times than not, people are having parties, get togethers, social events, etc on weekends that we are in Vermont. This isn’t the first such occasion, but a particularly frustrating one. I feel I’ve missed out on too many summers up here at the lake, I’ve missed out on too many experience, too many adventures. Yes, some say I’ve missed some bad adventures, or things I don’t care to experience, but the fact of the matter is life is full of ups and downs. How are you to ever experience an up without experiencing a down?

I know my childhood was deprived. I choose to blame this on my raising. As a child, and still as 18 year old, my mom insists on knowing everything about my life. She opens my mail, “interrogates” my friends, and keeps heavy restrictions on my activities. I missed the middle school years where hanging out at the commons on half days was a cool thing to do. I missed the years going to friendlies with friends after a concert or event. Sure, I blame some of that on my lack of participation in such events, but I know my parents would not support any type of activity afterwards. I hate living this sheltered life. I can’t figure out how to break down the shelter without breaking my mom. Just recently she let me attend a sleepover, which took going around her to dad. And she still declared “never again”. Is she going to be monitoring the rest of my life? What responsibilities actually came with being 18? Oh, I know… being able to go to war. That’s all it seems to have changed, I can be drafted. (Once I fill out the card… shhh) I have never spent my summer hanging out until late hours with friends simply because my mom would not tolerate it. I was expected home by dinner at 6, or later at 8:30… Anything else was unacceptable and someone would come get me.

People have told me that I wouldn’t like certain events or goings on. Personally, I trust their sense of judgment and agree I probably wouldn’t like it, but that shouldn’t prevent me from finding out.

You know that the root of the problem in my life is, or stems from? Oprah. Oprah has ruined my moms trust in me, my friends, small town America, and teenagers… no… people, as a whole. My mom believes that when Oprah says “chances are, by the time your teen graduates high school, they have engaged in sex at least once, probably more.” My mom takes that as, what’s the right vocab word; she takes it as… mmm… doctorate. She takes what Oprah says as if it was an unrestricted truth, knowing no exceptions. Oprah’s topics only tend to cover the bad, focusing on teenage sex, drug abuse, smoking, pregnancy, physical abuse, drinking, etc. Of course, Oprah does do the occasional good story, but my mom writes that off as a special case, and her boys are most certainly not special. I find it so frustrating that mom spends her time considering what I will be doing according to Oprah, not what I will be doing according the past 18 years of my life. I have never, and don’t plan on or see myself participating in any such activities in the closer or near future.

My mom constantly says I’m up for a rude awakening in life; but he never finishes the thought realizing it’s her fault. I made the bold move of saying I already knew people my age, my grade, dare I say my friends, have had sex, drink, and have done drugs/smokes. Mom immediately asked for names. I did not provide any of course. I wish I was treated appropriately for how I act. For helping around the house, doing chores, teaching my family computer stuff, I’m rewarded with a tight curfew and limited activities. That’s the way it’s always been, the good guys don’t even finish… nevermind finish last.

Recently my mom has been on some rampage that I’m going to be severely depressed next year, moving away from my girlfriend and friends and such. Well, I bet she read that in a magazine or Oprah said it. Mom fails to realize that going to Vermont makes me depressed. Not because I’m moving away, but because I’m not doing it on my own terms.

When I turned 18 mom told me it was time for me to make my own decisions, time for me to do what I wanted with my life. Well, she continues to tell me to come straight home after work, forces me to go to Vermont, gives me a curfew, and govern what I can and cannot do. Yes, things have gotten a little better; unfortunately that little betterness has brought me up to the level of an 8th grader.

In one such example, I was talking to my mom about not wanting to go to VT this weekend, explaining I had a party to go to (whether I was going or simply on call wasn’t the matter at hand) and I had friends to get together with. She simply walked out of my room mid sentence, mid my sentence. I know if I ever pulled that on her she would shoot me. Today she yelled at me for not offering her an Oreo after lunch because I got myself one.

Why am I focusing on mom? I know it was dad’s idea to buy the Vermont house, but mom is the limiting factor. I know if I want to do anything, I have to get dad to talk to mom. Making things take twice as long as they should.

Mom is a teacher, she’s been teaching for a long time, reading specifically. She lives her life in proper teach mode. She greets everyone she meets politely, and knows how to get you to answer her with the response she wants to hear. (Sounds like a reading test, doesn’t it?) My mom phrases questions in such a way the answer she likes is correct, and anything is not. Salad tonight: Instead of asking “Would you like salad?” she says “Here, you can start dishing yourself some salad. Why don’t you grab a bowl?” Note how that favors getting a salad… I said no… it was a bagged salad, with weird lettuce.

Right now, this very moment, I know I’m missing out on a party. I know people are gathering together, having fun, being carefree, and living in the moment. People will talk about this event for days, possibly weeks, to come. I am stuck up here 2 hours away listening to someone drill into rock across the lake. In the basement, alone on a futon. No on is around. This is what I am doing, I am not partying, not having fun, my world if full of worry and despair. This weekend will go down with the countless other ones like it as time forgotten, the hands tick, yet the moments stand still.

When Robert frost said to take the road less traveled, the path less used, he neglected to include the *, the * that adds the road less taken might not lead anywhere. It will probably be overgrown with thorns; there will be no fun things to do along the way. When you reach the end, which will be no where, you’ll wonder to yourself, the only person there, “Why did I do this” quickly followed by “Should I run or walk back?” The sign reads “Welcome to Vermont”