And isn’t it ironic…

When I was a little younger I used to have this notion that if I wanted something really bad – and thought that I was gonna happen – it never would. And if I thought that something wouldn’t happen and really wasn’t too keen on it happening, it would. I’m not too sure if I’m the only one who thinks this way – but it’s a little weird, innit?

I was thinking last night about when I did something wrong and what I expected my parents reaction to be.

Example : My first tattoo.
My dad is old school. And I don’t mean that in a good way. He’s anti-tattoo from the word go, and anyone in the family getting one was almost sacrilegious. You know how it goes.
I hadn’t been talking to someone I cared about for a while – and it was really getting to me. So I decided to stop moaning about it and do something to make me happy. Make me HIGH. So I did it. Went out wit my bestie and got (cliché of all clichés) a butterfly done on my chest. Of course my bestie did give me the “your-parents-are-gonna-kill-you–are-you-sure-u-wanna-do-this” speech. TOO LATE. Did it. And it was AWESOME. And as soon as I was outta there I called my dad up.
“HI…! Guess what!”
“….uh….. ????” he’s confused. (I don’t think he’s used to me being so chirpy when I talk to him.)
“Iknowyour’egonnabemadbutIgotatattoo!” yeah. It actually came out like that.
“What?”
“I got a tattoo!”
“……………………………………………………………………”
This was when I expected the “wait till you get home, young lady” story thrown at me. I was so ready. Bring it on, daddy.
“um…. So now that you’ve gone and done it – there’s nothing I can do no?”
*shock*
Something was wrong. I thought that apologizing would make him react normally. Well – the way I expected him to.
“I’m sorry” I added (in the same excited tone though, so I don’t think it counted for much.)
“its ok – I’ll see u in the evening”
*click*

Example 2 : I was in school – and our choir was performing at some random thingy taking place at BMICH and I was supposed to back them up on a certain number on guitar. So I borrow my dads trusty black, acoustic Ibanez. Beauty really. It was given to my dad by one of his old buddies who was outta the country now.
Anyway – we were all in the dressing room – about 50 of us and I passed the guitar down to someone to leave it somewhere out of harms way. If you’ve not been to the BMICH dressing rooms, you should know they have huge ceiling to floor windows. Some dimwit had leant the love of my dads life against the narrow wall between two of these ‘windows of death’. (and yes I was in another world and didn’t see this).
Suddenly – *CRASH!* it was that melodious crash that only a guitar can make – when the crash itself makes the strings vibrate. Everyone went silent. I smiled and said “I’d like roses for my funeral please.” Luckily the damn thing had fallen INTO the room, instead of OUT of it. Otherwise I’d have been taking the remnants of the guitar back to my dad in a jar or something. We were on the second floor.
Someone picked up the Ibanez.
The headstock – (the part with the little tuney thingys on it) had snapped into two. Just held together by a splinter of wood.
I was dead.
I dead person, I say.
All that sentimental value packed into a bit of wood and…….. some other stuff.
He’s going to kill me.
We managed to perform somehow – and I went back to school, afterwards, nursing this wounded babe. And of all days, my dad himself comes to pick me up. (my mom at least – can butter her up. With dad – nothing doing. ) I walked up to the car, tears welling up in my eyes. Words failed me, so I just held the guitar up in front of me.
‘Just do it and get it over with,’ I willed him.
But he just put me in the car, and drove us straight to the guitar shop to see if we could salvage anything from this wreck.

It’s a bit weird when I think about it how I always expected the worst when it came to them. My parents, I mean. Don’t get me wrong – they’ve reacted just the way I expected – or even worse, on occasion. I’m pretty sure I deserved it as well. But it all turned out OK. What is it about you when you’re a kid that makes you respect/fear your parents?

You live, You learn, I guess.