I believe that I will never be a perfect daughter. At the moment of conception my mother had great plans for me, from every imaginable ideal of ballerina, swimmer, first women president and curer of cancer. I’m almost positive my father thought I’d be a boy.
My mom, attempting her mother comfort, said she knew I was destined for great things, although at this moment she could not imagine they’d include plaid skirts, fishnets, or mohawks. After years of blindly following my parent’s fantastic goals, I shook off their affects and fell toward my own path; one not made or planed out for me.
Out of the rebellion of high school rose the source of great contention for me and my parents. Honors society, nothing more than a cliquish group, Varsity sports, this required school spirit, and homecoming, required even more school spirit, yet my parents desperately wished these activities upon me.
I became the antithesis of my parent’s hopes for a popular, “well-achieved” child. On the under belly of school activities, behind the scenes, I did achieve, I was popular, but only to a much more intimate group. Theater was my society. High academics were my varsity team. Weekend local concerts were my homecoming. Trying to fit myself into the pretty little mold was never expected by my friends.
My mom and dad’s aspirations were quickly falling to the wayside. They made one last attempt, with threats of eminent embarrassment by strangers, to impress upon me the benefits of belonging to the mass of average, popular school spirited students, and leave my obvious phase of band tees, punk music, studded belts, and dyed hair.
Fighting all the way for pink, purple, blue, green colored hair and countering every ill formulated argument thrust in my face, I withstood and never conceded to be something that felt unlike home.
As I approach the precipice of my adult life, I realize I’ve finally found my place. At last my parents and I have decided on a middle ground. They no longer push me to “dress more like a lady” or “wear something without holes”, or “look the way we know you can.” The pink hair is now a natural shade of brown. The piercings have been taken out. The only visible give away of my decorated history is my bad religion belt buckle and red high top Converses, but if you were to look inside, down to the core of me, you’d see that I embrace every bit of my colorful past.
Through the years of college I’ve transformed and exceeded my parent’s expectations for a lady-like, soon to be lawyer, daughter. They’ve learned some things are better left to run their course.
And this I believe, that being myself and never faltering under pressure to change is better than being perfect. Perfection comes in all shades— even pink, purple, blue and green— mine just happened to be all of them.
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