(also yes, i am being volatile and my mother would murder me if she knew.)
my parents are very different.
my father is best characterized as volatile. my mother is very nice.
that makes her sound outrageously vanilla. she isn't. but nice is the right word.
my father and i are a lot alike.
we say that and it upsets my mother. it makes her feel left out.
three is a difficult number. you almost need four just to even up the teams.
i try to tell my mother that i understand where she's coming from, because one of the side-effects of being my parents' child is that i inherited the volatility along with the niceness, so that any time i am volatile it's followed by a huge wave of crushing, self-conscious regret. and that guilt? that is 100% pure my mother.
we had a fight, my mother and i.
because we have spent years crammed together in this clown car of volatility and politesse, the fight seamlessly transitions, in typical my family fashion, into an elaborate, pre-established tight-rope dance.
first, i- volatile- must inform my father that my mother and i are fighting. that she has said unkind things and my volatility has been incited.
next, my father must extend to me a suitably volatile offense to the unkind things my mother has said, before nicely relaying to her that she has, in fact, not been nice and even, perhaps, been somewhat volatile herself.
this is the point where, were we any other family, my mother would pick up the phone. because we are us, she does not.
instead, she opts to apologize for having been unkind via the pre-established channel of communication and, accordingly, she asks my father to relay to me that she is sorry. and because we are this ridiculous, three days pass in which my mother and i do not speak because we are waiting patiently for my father to patch that message through.
though this was a fight about something else altogether, something that had absolutely nothing to do with the consolidation of the memphis city school system, the consolidation of the memphis city school system is ostensibly what my mother and i wound up fighting about. for three days.
and while i'm tempted to think that's incredibly stupid, it really isn't because, in the end, the point we were arguing over was essentially the same.
because, yes, there is a chance THIS could go disastrously bad. but then...
maybe plans are over-rated.
maybe possibility is the key.