Son, one of the particularly frightening parts of becoming our parents is when we look in the mirror and see them looking back. But there’s an even more cringe-worthy experience, at least in my opinion: it’s when we open our mouth and our parents’ voices come out.
At least when you walk up to a mirror, you know what’s coming. But you never know when your mouth might open and “you’re not going out dressed like that, are you?” is released like so much water vapor in your breath. Or its modern version: “I’m glad I caught you before you went out and embarrassed yourself. I’m sure you didn’t notice, but those pants make your butt crack show.”
Nature says that when you grow up, you will parrot the phrases you hated as a kid; nurture loads your head with them and stores them for later release at the least convenient times.
Sometimes it’s something about our parents’ expressions that just gives us the mental equivalent of a wedgie. I have expended countless amounts of energy training myself away from “Hell in a handbasket,” for example. That one was my dad’s: “This whole world is going to Hell in a handbasket, what with Lady GooGoo and Bieber Timberlake taking over the radio.”
Even if it wasn’t a hand-me-down from my dad, it would still annoy the crap out of me because it’s just plain silly. Is travelling to Hell in a handbasket really worse than getting there any other way? Seems to me that getting there, say, sandwiched between Lindsay Lohen and Carrot Top in the back seat of a 1971 Ford Pinto driven by Paris Hilton would be a fair bit worse.
I’m picturing Osama bin Laden down in Hell chatting with Muammar Gaddafi:
“So Muammar, how’d you get here?”
“Engulfed in a burning fireball. Boiled my skin right off. Damn, that hurt. In fact, you could say it hurt like Hell. Get it, Osama? Hell? It hurt like Hell. We’re in Hell. Geez I’m funny.”
“Yeah, I don’t know why people never got that about you.”
“No kidding. So how’d you get here, Osama?”
“Banshees. About a dozen screaming deathmongers with claws the length of my right pinkie fingernail swarmed me and dragged me all the way here. Scratched my eyes out on the way down. And look what they did to my beard.”
“Ooh, yeah, that’s gotta hurt. Hey, at least it’s not as bad as that poor soul. Check him out.”
“Yikes. Handbasket. Sucks to be him.”
Anyway, the point is that the things we hate hearing the most are the ones that stick. So I got “Hell in a handbasket” wedged in my head right between “Kids these days…” and “I don’t care if all the other kids have it…” and now it’s everything I can do to avoid letting it escape (Don’t get me wrong; I do have a problem with kids these days, and I actually don’t care if all the other kids have it). You’ll be walking out the door on your first date with some girl you really like and I’ll blurt out, “That skirt’s a bit short, don’t you think?” It’s not like I planned it or could stop it even if I noticed it coming.
There’s some kind of a gene that gets activated when we have kids that causes your head to start releasing all that stuff you’ve been storing. But if you have any chance in– well, in Hell of living a life free from its control, you’ve got to start working on it now.
Don’t tell mom I said this, but your best chance is probably to stop listening to anything I say. Or, maybe repeat my most annoying sentences backwards in your head to mess up whatever process stores them permanently.
It’s too late for me. Maybe you can be the first one to break the cycle. Good luck.
Jeanna
May 30, 2011
I love the wit, you’ve earned a permanent reader!
I've Become My Parents
May 30, 2011
That’s quite kind, thanks. I’ll do my best to make it worth your while!
Penelope J.
September 8, 2011
This was before my time (reading your blog) and glad that I got a chance to read it. Fun especially the “don’t tell mom” bit.
I've Become My Parents
September 8, 2011
Thanks so much Penelope!
lisa
October 21, 2011
I always kind of liked the idea of going to hell in a hand basket. A hand basket seemed like an especially ludicrous way to travel to hell.
My mom was also fond of telling us over and over that we were going to be living in the poor house. I, however, am an optimist. That is why when I tell my son that we will be living in the poor house, I always add that it is probably nice this time of year.
I've Become My Parents
October 21, 2011
Ha! Your optimism is truly inspiring. Well, it’s really not so bad here in the poor house anyway.
Debbie
October 21, 2011
“what with Lady GooGoo and Bieber Timberlake taking over the radio.” You interviewed my mother for this blog, didn’t you.
I've Become My Parents
October 21, 2011
Nice lady, your mom. Clearly hangs out in the same circles as my mom 😉
goddessofglitter
November 6, 2011
If the hand basket had a lid it might not be so bad. ha. I not only hear my mom coming out of my mouth, once and awhile I hear Bill Cosby when I am telling my son to “come here!”. I always hear this bit from one of his stand up routines from the 1980’s.