Monday, February 16, 2009
Growing up, I hated that my parents were different, that they were foreign, they had accents, they didn't "get" anything and that they forbid me from doing "ordinary" American things that other kids able to do. They behaved this way not because they were cruel, or because they wanted to deprive their children, but because the things being asked of them simply didn't make sense to them, they grew up with a different set of norms that they could not let go.
As an adult, I love having foreign parents. I love that my foreign parents are ten times more funny than "ordinary" American parents, that they do not know a simple saying, that we have to rewind even the most simple film a minimum of eighteen times just so they can understand something as simple as "You had me at hello" - and even then I have to explain it another eighty times and they still don't get it so we just move on.
This morning, I had trouble getting out of bed. I thought it was because I was up late playing word games on my computer last night, but as soon as I attempted to clear my throat, I realized that I was under the weather. I got up, had breakfast and went to my local coffee shop where I spend half my days working (I use the coffee shop as my office). After a short while, I realized that I was running a fever so I packed up and headed home.
Feeling sick & needy, I phoned my father for some sympathy. My father asked about my symptoms, I replied with a detailed list to which he answered "drink lots of fluents and get lots of sleep." I love having foreign parents.