You oughta know?
June 13, 2005
Sweet Jesus people, write something!
Actually, to be fair...people have been updating more often recently. In fact, Yibba seemingly wrote one entry in my honor. (THANKS!) And Zap Rudy's latest entry on (re)learning French was laugh-out-loud funny. I was reading it at work and laughed, um, out loud, and then had to suffer the humiliation as I tried to read out the bit that had made me laughing to Cherry who, oh yeah by the way, speaks French fluently. (Yeah, folks, I passed the reading exam, but anyone who knows me knows that my French sucks. Yeah Di and Dolo, don't try to pretend you're not doubled over laughing at the memory of my French right this minute.)
So anyway, my Dad asked me an interesting question today. It's actually a question he asks me about once a year, but usually in a more hostile manner (which makes it easier to lie). But today, he prefaced the asking of the question with, "Newgy, can I ask you a question, but promise you won't be upset?" And I said, "No." And he said, "Okay then, nevermind." But then I said, "Uh oh. Why would you say that?" And he was all, "Well, it's just sometimes when I ask you certain questions you get defensive, and I don't want you to be defensive." At which point I said, "Hello pot, have you even MET your daughter, kettle?" Anyway, I told him to go ahead and ask me his question, and he said, "Do you pray?" At which point I smoothly lied, without missing a beat, "Yes. Why would you ask that?" And then I realized I was being defensive, and honestly, baba was just so nice about it and just smiled. And I couldn't be upset with him for asking the question.
But the thing is, I always get confused when my parents ask me questions like that. Like, I wonder, what are they gonna do if I tell them, "Yes, I pray, but not in the way you expect me to." Are they going to send me to praying boot camp? Are they going to spend days and nights worrying about me, and my soul being damned to hell (which, oh, I don't believe in?) We were there once. We tried this. I was as honest as I could be about as much as I could be (and let me tell you, I didn't even get halfway through the first sentence of my lapsed Muslim confessions) before there were hysterics and tears, and threats to never let me out of their sight, or to force me to drop out of school so I could spend a year memorizing the Quran (a task which, by the way, no one else in my immediate, or even most of my extended family, has accomplished).
I am not bitter, or angry, just sometimes confused. My parents were never wishy-washy about what they wanted to teach us, and what they wanted us to believe. As far as I can remember, they were never unclear about the religious expectations they had of their children. I do not begrudge them their beliefs, nor really their expectations of me. I just want to know...do they really want to hear the truth? Because the last time I tried to offer it, they didn't seem too happy about it, and seemed just a little bit relieved when I reneged on the little that I had confessed (though Baba proceeded not to speak to me for 3 or 4 months, just for good measure).
It may sound dumb,[Carrie] but I have to wonder...do they really want to know? [/Carrie]
And tonight, as I settle in for what will surely be my 4th restless night of "sleep" in a row because I am expecting a call from JIM that will probably not come, do I really want to know why he hasn't called me in 10 days, when before he was calling me every 2 or 3? Especially if the fortune teller was right, and he is currently having a passionate tryst with his gay biking partner?
I ask you.