I tutor a high-school English student. We’ve been working together for a few months now, and last night she called me, bawling that since she was still getting a C, her parents were not happy with me and probably would not let her work with me anymore. This is of very little concern to me since the next words out of her mouth were about how her parents tell her she’s a failure, she’s not good at anything, she doesn’t work hard enough, she’s not smart.

I also happen to know that these parents pay me and pay other tutors to help their daughter with her schoolwork, to encourage and motivate her, to boost her grades and congratulate her when she does well – because they don’t do it themselves.

I do not like parents like that.

I went to The Restaurant this morning to drop off all of E’s stuff while he was doing lunch prep. I took everything, from his clothes and razors to his files off my computer and the copy of his interview in the local foodie magazine. I wrote him a three page letter, angry but mostly restrained, and tossed it in as well. We sat together on the bench in the parking lot behind the kitchen and talked for about half an hour. He looked like SHIT. I don’t think he’d shaved for five days, and his eyes were bloodshot above puffy circles. He sat with his head in his hands while I vented a little, then he started in again on the “I don’t deserve you” stuff. He says I have everything going for me, he has no future, he’ll never be able to get a better job, and so on.

Did I mention that he looked like shit? Did I mention that despite the fact that I have been cut to the core and still sort of want to punch him, I don’t want him to hate himself and I can’t listen to him talk like that? Last time he started beating himself into the ground and calling himself a loser and saying that’s why we couldn’t be together, he looked so miserable that I wanted to pet him. I petted him again this time and tangled my fingers in his curls. But this time I wasn’t telling him I loved him for who he is and otherwise reassuring him. This time…

“The only reason you should call yourself a piece of shit or say you don’t deserve me is because of the way you treated me. You have NO excuse for that. So if you don’t deserve me, that part is your own fault. And if you don’t see a future for yourself, it’s because you chicken out on everything. You chicken out on defending yourself to your dad, to BossMan… but I never, NEVER thought you would chicken out on me. If you have truly been open and honest with me for the last year, then the person I think I know does have a future and is smart enough to go after his dreams. But you don’t even have the guts to make yourself into what you say you want to be.”

“I just don’t know what I want, out of life, out of anything.”

“Because you have this image of yourself that everyone sees, you’re Mr. Crazy, anything on a dare, do whatever you want, and sometimes I think you even believe that’s who you are. But you come home most nights and tell me how your life sucks, how you hate the way everything is going for you… do you WANT to be that image that you say sucks so much? The image you have left over from college?** Or do you really want things to change?”

“No, I don’t want to hate my life but I don’t know what to do. I just don’t know what I want out of life.”

“Quit being a chicken and listen to someone who believes in you then. I don’t care if you don’t want to date me or even if you never want to talk to me again***, but LISTEN to me this time. Everyone else believes in your image, in what you show on the surface – your friends see it as the funny boy and your parents see it as a fuckup. And I know you love him and will defend him through anything, and I barely know your dad, but I HATE him for the way he talks down to you and never takes you seriously because you were a crazy kid for awhile.”

It feels good to finally tell him what I think of his stuck-up bigot dad who walked out on his sons when they were 3 and 5 so they could grow up with all his money and none of his presence. He loves his dad and fears him even more.

I let loose one little tear, and he starts to make sounds like he’s choking. His face is turning bright red. “I hate him for it,” I continued, “because you idolize him. I hate that his low opinion of you is the way you define yourself.”

And that brings me back around to it. Parents. It wasn’t until I almost got married and met my ex-fiance’s whackjob mother that I really understood how good I have it with my family. I won’t bore you with the Leave It to Beaver details of my childhood, but it seems that understanding and supportive parents are a rare commodity these days. I’m not a mother and that’s all I’m going to give you by way of disclaimer, but how do you tell your child he or she is basically worthless? How can you ignore everything your child does right? How can you be completely uninvolved in your child’s life and expect someone else to do the work of loving your child, building his or her self-esteem, and creating a trusting relationship?

My student’s parents always knock her down and say she’s a disappointment. E’s dad never raised him up or believed in him in the first place. And they’re stuck, both of them, identifying themselves with the fact that their parents never expect them to succeed. My student is only 17 and still living at home with her parents, but E is almost 28 and it’s not much different for him being out on his own. I don’t believe parents are necessarily to blame for their children’s shortcomings (like utter rudeness to their girlfriends!) – especially when those children are grown – but it’s as though these parents have so little faith in their offspring that they don’t think that ANYTHING they do will stick in their kids’ heads, when actually it’s EVERYTHING that sticks. And when everything is negative like this…how do they expect these kids to turn out? If kids raised like this succeed in life, it will be in SPITE of their parents, not BECAUSE of them and their crock of reverse psychology.

I’ve tried to make them both feel better. I bet other people have too… but I wonder if anything anybody else says can really stick when you’ve had 18 years of crap built up before you can even get out of the house. If you put enough pressure on a piece of coal, it will eventually become a diamond. But when it’s a person…? When it’s a child…?

*I thought this was a fun pun on E being a chef and all. Hahaha, I made a funnie!
**Yes, this is the YouTube video I talked about in this post. May as well, eh? Doesn’t he look like Jim Belushi?
***Okay, yes I do, but this was for dramatic emphasis.

Here’s the end of the E story for today.

I don’t think I know enough swear words to describe these last few days.

E finally called me back today and I told him I wanted to come over after work because we needed to talk. He told me not to come over; he said he needed to think about things. I said no, you do not get to think until you hear me out because buddy, I’ve got something for you to think about.

And I let him have it. Ohhhh, did I let him have it.

You do not, I told him, treat people the way you treat me. You do not blow off your girlfriend whenever something else to do comes up. You do not listen to voicemails where the person you love is crying and just ignore her. You do not tell me you’ll call or tell me we will get together and then not follow through. You do not expect me to just sit here and take this from you when I have done everything for you. You do this to me, and did you know you do this to your friends too? Did you know they talk to me about it? No, this does not mean you’re a piece of shit, it means you’re full of shit because you think you’d do anything for your friends and let me tell you what the rest of us know – it’s only anything that is convenient for you. And the reason you’re not a piece of shit is because I don’t even think you realize it. You don’t even realize how much you hurt people even when we have to rub it in your face, because you are completely blind. So think about THAT while you’re off thinking.

And, I pointed out, I have never tried to change you into anything except what you told me you wanted to be. I have never tried to push you into doing anything you didn’t tell me you wanted to do. Don’t give me this “clingy” shit. You deserved every one of those tearful messages this weekend and you have no one to blame but yourself. Do you just want this to be done, then? Do you want this to be over? You don’t KNOW?

Well at least you know where I stand now, pal. And if you do want to try again, you had better be ready to step up and be a proper boyfriend and treat me the way I deserve to be treated – the way you used to treat me. That’s the only reason I’d ever consider it – because I know that you’re not really the jerk that you’re acting like. You’re a better person than that and SOMETHING is going on that either you’re not telling me or you’re not telling yourself. So go think about that too. Figure your mess out because I’m sick of trying to help you and never getting any support from you in return.

So take all the time you want to think, and you can think while you’re single and I will go live my life. And if you want another shot, you need to call me. I won’t be waiting by the phone.

THE END

If you’re new here, get some background at E and Me, Part I, Part II, and Part III.

Sometimes I think I hate my boyfriend.

Ladies, is it even the slightest bit irrational for me to be pissed off that my boyfriend does not answer a call, immediately texts me that he has been offered a free ticket to the ballgame (of a team he does not like) and wants to go (instead of hang out with me as discussed earlier), then immediately fails to answer another call? Obviously, if he just texted me, HIS PHONE IS IN HIS HANDS. It is not broken or lost or left at home. And there have been no calls back, not even a text back (despite 2 more attempts on my part) for about 6 hours now.

That is ridiculous behavior and it is rude. So of course now I cannot sleep.

Is there a dealership someplace where I can just go and trade up? When I ordered my Scion a few years ago, it was so nice to be able to pick out exactly which options I wanted – not to have to pick Package A or B or C and get lots of things I didn’t want to pay for (alloy wheels) in order to get the things I did want (keyless entry). It was glorious to know that I was able to get the amped-up stereo without paying $120 for logo-branded floor mats as well. When I got the Jeep, of course it came with package choices instead. I have a Wrangler X, which has various things standard, and because I wanted fog lights I had to get a whole tow package that I really don’t anticipate ever using, and although it looks kind of badass, I wish I didn’t have to pay for it.

Sometimes I feel like there are certain traits in the men I date that always go together. No matter what car you want, you’re always going to get power windows if you want power locks. If I could order “Package E” with the spontaneity option but without the lack of courtesy that said spontaneity often brings, how happy I might be. If I could order him with his go-for-the-gold attitude but without the sore-loserness that accompanies it, that would save a lot of trouble. But it’s like not wanting to pay for alloy wheels when you order any car but a Scion. It’s always a package deal. When people say that when you really love someone, you love them for their faults as well as their virtues, what does that really mean? If you don’t love all the things that come on “Package E,” for example, does that mean you don’t really love the car? I wouldn’t hate having alloy wheels and an engine block heater and 17 extra cupholders, but I’d sure resent having to pay for them every month when I only wanted keyless entry.

I know I’ll never be able to order anything – a car, a man, a cheeseburger – with exactly what I want and absolutely nothing that I don’t. But right now it’s really jumping out at me that I don’t need freaking alloy wheels, and I am about ready to throw these logo-branded floor mats under a truck.

“Do you still love me?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t say it back any more since… everything. If you still mean it, I need you to say it.”

“I love you, babe.”

“I love you too.”

2 boxes Slim Fast shakes, one vanilla, one strawberry

3 boxes Totino’s Pizza Rolls, assorted

5 Banquet frozen dinners, assorted

2 boxes Hot Pockets breakfast biscuits, sausage and cheese

1 bag frozen green beans

1 bag frozen vegetable medley

1 bag Chex Mix, original

1 case Budweiser Select

1 pack Mike’s Hard Lemonade

I did not anticipate that E would be cooking for me much in the coming days when I stopped at the grocery store on my way home from work, hence the pile of frozen food. The alcohol is pretty self-explanatory. It should see me through Thursday.

After the events of the weekend played out and I realized that I still have some semblance of hope to cling to, I also realized that I still had all his stuff in the back of the Jeep. I brought it in with the groceries and hung up his shirts.

In a foul mood and mad at the world, E called me last night – a wonderful opportunity for me to play the “I’m on your team” card again and remind him that I am fabulous. I picked him up and he whined and complained, so we got hot dogs and lottery tickets at the gas station to bring back to my house.

——————–

Interlude:

I cannot believe I left this part out earlier, but when we were fighting Wednesday night, we had also stopped and gotten hot dogs (we do this a lot). When I pulled up to his house to drop him on the curb during this yelling spree, he got out and said something mean. So I threw the hot dogs at him. That was a good moment. Too bad he hadn’t made a chili cheese dog, because that would have been fantastic.

——————–

Back to last night:

We didn’t win anything with the lottery scratch-off tickets, but we enjoyed hot dogs and went through the Normal Evening Routine. I even let him have some clean shirts and socks from the paper bag of his stuff. Cuddle, kiss, blanket-stealing, sleep.

The whole time, I felt like I was on a tightrope, balancing on the high-wire while watching every move we both made. It’s where I go back into Whackjob Carrie Bradshaw mode, hyper-analyzing and looking through narrowed eyes at every move of his, plotting carefully every move of mine before I take a step.

The Normal Morning Routine followed; the only variation being that once again, his only goodbye was a kiss and a wave. I don’t like that. I’m going to keep his stuff in the bag and not put it back in the dresser until he shapes up.