do you ever get the feeling...

that your parents are making fun of you? And not just poking harmless, well-meant fun, but rather nasty, jive-ass, ignorant remarks?

I do.

It has been evidenced to me in the following ways (and yes, I know well enough the adage "an eavesdropper nevers hears anything good about himself"):

The "Lorn's an ignorant Gen-Xer" comment:
Scenario-I at computer, looking at one my daily reads (was it Buzzflash? or even Margaret?. Not to toot my own horn, it could just have easily been The Onion), I overhear my parents having a discussion about the questionable intelligence of one younger "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire" contestant, who is unsure about the location of Harley Davidson. They are mocking her "because everyone knows this" and not just baby boomers from the greater eastern Wisconsin area. She "watches MTV instead of the news, and doesn't know anything about America. All these kids these days [a little too cliche for my taste perhaps]. Look at Lorn-all she reads in the newspaper are cartoons."

Ahem.

I shall not refute that; tis true! I ignore the heavier sections of the paper for the funnies, and on a rare occasion have been noted to skim the day's headlines. I stopped getting my news from mass media sources not long ago, what with the inferiority of TV and the loss of the Chicago Tribune at my breakfast table. The time I spend on the internet is a mixture of catching up the VERY intelligent blogs I read daily and following up on the stories they report.

Regardless of what I actually do on the internet, my father's offhand comment is merely the tip of their big ol' denial iceberg of my politics and social consciousness. It has been recorded in the past. They do not want to hear my "liberal whining" or at best, maintain that "I'll grow out of it once I leave that bleeding heart activist factory." I will be the first to admit that politics will change, and should change, evolving with your interests and needs. However. I wave my private parts at their aunties. Bah.

Scenario 2: Ah fuck it.

I really want to bitch about how my dad's an overbearing, sexist, opinionated, wino ass clown.

Disclaimer: I hold the utmost respect for the ideals my father raised me with (to be strong, confident, smart, and not to take shit), through teaching me to wrestle, requiring I perform feats of mathematical agility without exception...well, the confident he led by example? And the not to take shit? Well, he didn't. Guess he's a good role model, albeit a strict one.

He doesn't listen. He gives my mom a second shift of dishes, cooking, vacuuming, etc, but wants endless praise or assistance for the chores he undertakes (today, he did dishes with much aplomb: big sigh, clatter clatter, groan, clatter clatter-in Family language that translates to: "I hate what I'm doing because I'm missing this episode of Perry Mason I've already seen, I should be sitting in my chair while LORN (girl) doesn't the dishes, let's slam these plates together to show my disgust for housework"). Should my mom or I be doing chores and create any sort of disturbance, we are evil satanic bitches. We get glared at. My dad's glare is something I have learned to handle. We end up having staring contests. It's where I learned to raise one eyebrow and look amused yet not-shit-taking.

He loves to have things his way (heck, don't we all?). Should you thank him kindly for his suggestion but not use it, infidel! Ingrate! Should you refute his logic or attempt a friendly banter, bitch! Ingrate! (I get a lot of that one around here) Poor Chipper, who has but a breath left in his tortured body, gets the worst rap, worse than I even. Beware, you are not immune. Jerry has stories. My friends have stories.

And were I my mother (perhaps it's a good thing I am not), I would have snapped long ago. It wouldn't have accomplished anything. My father has an Autobahn-sized stubborn streak. It is ALWAYS your fault. Nothing makes me feel more stuck in the past, teenager style, unable to grow up and realize my life, than this. I have a college degree, for fuck's sake.

I may not get into Michigan or McGill, but hell if I'm staying here another year. Another six months even. Fuck that shit. Heads would roll, Lizzie Borden style. I'd be on your evening news. But I'd probably be smiling.