Site Meter Reflections on Playboy: I’ve been driving Mom’s car without her permission. Shh!

July 31, 2008

I’ve been driving Mom’s car without her permission. Shh!

My closest relatives live in Chico now, but I didn’t grow up there. My little sister discovered it on the family’s behalf when she was admitted to its California State University campus (NSFW: a highly rated party school, incidentally).

“Families aren’t democracies,” said Daddie Dearest, may he rest in peace. If that’s true, I don’t see why the common boundaries of personal ownership apply within them. No democracy, no rule of law!

A few weeks ago, I muscled and guilt-tripped my way into my mother’s guest bedroom here in Chico. At 36, I’m a refugee of my own war against my parents. I have had trouble seeing my rational self-interest in doing grownup stuff like driving and keeping an apartment clean. In the past ten years, I’ve been kicked out of two apartments for failing to take care of them. Soon I’ll find a place to live on the northern California coast somewhere, more on which in a future post. Naturally, I’m allowing Mom’s eagerness to be rid of me push her into managing the logistics of the move, heh heh. I’m too busy with my fun stuff to handle more than the bare minimum.

When I was in my teens, Mom called me “opinionated” and “arrogant” because I didn’t believe as firmly as the cowards around me that misery loves company. I think of my parents as war criminals for forcing me to endure schoolyard bullying, paramilitary gym classes, witless bureaucracy, and brain-numbing homework in the American public school system. By 16, I was mentally whipped and beaten enough to refuse to avail myself of a summer job or a driver’s license out of helplessness and spite. A pattern had set in.

In my mid-twenties, I finally got around to a driver’s license. But I used it only to drive my black Honda Helix motor scooter. After a few years, one injury, and many humiliating incidents of panic and cowardice on the road, I sold the damn thing. I’ve been wheelless since about 2000. To make a long story short, Mom has refused me permission to drive her Jeep Grand Cherokee because of my lack of recent experience. Ah, but not everyone needs to be a coward just because she is. What can she do, ground me?

Most American schools are run so stupidly and condescendingly (as opposed to what is possible) that they can suck the joy out of learning anything—even literature, science, or driving. My alienation from the automobile has felt like a kind of anorexia. It’s hard to describe the self-doubt, confusion, and guilt that arise from the passionlessness. It’s hard to describe the joy of actually wanting to drive now. Appetite brings purpose to life.

Playboy models know well the soul’s mysterious obligation to go behind parents’ backs. I appreciate the wisdom of their example. Those young ladies are still older than I am.

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Posted by Brian Sorgatz at 8:36 AM

  • Blogger Shea left this comment at August 2, 2008 12:05 AM  
    Eagles and horses, baby!
    The wildlife concert,
    ohh

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