Old People

I am happy with how I was raised. I love being Southern and all those old-fashioned habits that come along with it. I love that God made me the way I am--to look this way, and think and feel and want the things I do. Granted, I've got my issues, but on the whole, God has blessed me, and I have no reason to complain.

But if you don't mind, I have a few words...

See, I was raised to respect my elders, knowing that since they have lived more life, they have a lot of wisdom to impart to us young uns. Every now and then, I enjoy taking some time to listen to people--especially random ones I meet at the Goodwill or Big Lots in Crenshaw. Not only is it usually interesting, but it provides a good dose of humility since they usually assume that you are kind of stupid and they have all sorts of things to tell you that they are sure you've never heard before. Most of my experience with this has been a few off-hand comments out here--like the time I was buying binders for Bible study and a nice old man told me about how he used to be involved in inner-city missions. Or the times I sit down with Great Aunts and hear stories of when they were a kid.

But today, instead of humility, I got a nice dose of eating-disorder-motivation from a not-so-nice man at this auction store where I was looking for a cabinet. I don't know if it's just old people now-a-days or old people in LA or just a fluke incident, but this guy started talking to me (there were lots of people around and a safe distance between us, so don't stress Dad), asking if I was looking for furniture to fix up a new home. No, I said, I'm a student, and we got to talking about what I'm learning and where I go. As soon as he hears that I'm studying theatre, he of course assumes that I'm hoping to be an actor because why would you ever study theatre unless you wanted to be in movies? (don't get me started...) I shrug because I don't want to explain to him my whole spiel about wanting a family and being involved in the church, and he proceeds to give me advice about how I can become a success. "You gotta go after it" and all those nice things, so he asks me what exactly I am doing now and what I want to do as soon as I'm done and is horrified that I don't know. "You gotta know what you're going to do. Partial motivations get you part-time jobs."

Ok ok...now I'm just being polite and looking for an out in the conversation, when I make mention that the most important thing for me is to have a family. Usually this is a great kicker with old people--"oh how sweet." and "family is so important" and all these things, but he proceeds to tell me that this is a bad idea because "if you're going to swim across the ocean, you can't take your family with you--you have to go by yourself and make arrangements for them after the fact."

Interesting analogy. *Swallows grain of salt.* Thank you, sir. May I have another?

"Well you want a family...do you have a boyfriend?" Every single gal's favorite question.

"No sir."

His eyes roll and he tells me about how I shouldn't wait for someone else to make decisions about my life--that I have to go where I'm going and if some guy wants to come along, he can join me, but I'm not going to put anything on hold. He refers back to the whole "can't have a career and be a 'mommy'" idea. He keeps using the word, "Mommy" like it's some sort of disease. The way he says it makes it sound like the woman's equivalent to "spic" or "nigger."

"Some guy's gonna come along and say, 'I love you. Let's have sex.' And then *insert onomatopoeia term for the swelling of the stomach and the corresponding hand-guestures* you're pregnant."

*Mere reaches for the entire salt-shaker* This is when I realize that this conversation is going no where but hell in a hand basket, and I try to find a nice break in which I can excuse myself. In flies the kicker of all kickers:

"I can tell by looking at you that you don't work out." Earlier, it was just "You're no Marylin." Now it's, "You're too soft. I can tell you don't have any kind of work out plan. You should be able to show me 1-2-3-4-5-6 abs, but you cant. You've seen those women on the TV. You gotta look like that, you gotta get a work-out plan and you can't look like you do because you're too soft, you're too sweet..."

He continues. I desperately search for my happy place. Soon, I'm able to leave, but not before he asks if I'd like to come visit him for advice more often. He's shocked that I decline, and I leave with some sort of, "it was nice to talk, er, listen to what you had to say" line. Not the sweetest sign-off, but it was the best I could do.

Old people...

Ok, so all joking (read: freaking out) aside, it was a real, solid dose of what this world finds important and a reminder of the kind of mentality that I will probably always have to fight, especially if I stay in LA.