My mom called me today just to let me know that my package was on its way containing the most recent guilt gift... a VCR "along with a few 'surprises'". I said thank you in the most gracious way I could muster knowing full well that as soon as the package arrives I will take a few deep breathes (to prepare myself for the 'surprises' which will most likely be more 'backpack buddies' or toys from a McDonald's Happy Meal), then open the package and get rid of the VCR ASAP by handing it over to my downstair neighbors and then wonder why it was that I ever stood up to my parents to make them send me the package in the first place. What was the point really? I told them how I felt about the way they treat me which made them upset, made me break my "no tears over the parentals" rule and evoked guilt gifts which seem cool at the moment until I realize that everything I own over $20 that was given to me by my parents are all guilt gifts. Every time I look at my leather jacket, my laptop computer, the comforter on my bed, my car, my DVD player, or most of my CD's I can remember what happened to make them feel guilty enough to buy it for me. Maybe it would have been better to keep my mouth shut, spare them the guilt and spare me the haunting memories in things I could live without.
It reminds me of my E.T. days. You see, when I was small, I watched E.T., one of America's favorite movies. It terrified me! Nothing should have a neck that moves up and down like that, fingers shouldn't glow (or be that long for that matter), and stomachs shouldn't have the eery red/orange glow either. I don't care what people say, Elliot didn't know E.T. well enough to trust him with his glowing parts or in flying-the-bike-abilities. I'll bet E.T. comes back... with friends!!!! Anyway... I was ridiculously scared of E.T. and to this day I'm not sure if what came next was intentional or not. But my mom told all of my friends and family that I loved E.T. and that I would love nothing more than to get E.T. paraphenalia for my birthday and Christmas (both are within a week of eachother). And so they did! Almost everything I got had some sort of E.T. affiliation. E.T. t-shirts, posters, dolls, ceramic statues, sleeping bag and even, ironically enough, an E.T. night-light. My mom promptly put all of these things all over my room. It looked like the demonic E.T. himself puked all over my bedroom. Every night I would shake in my bed and cry as I looked around at the horror in my bedroom, wondering when the men in white would come and exactly how many there would be... and also where in my bedroom E.T. was hiding at that very moment and what he would do to me with that nasty glowing finger. I would cry and cry until I was too exhausted to cry any more and I'd fall asleep to dream about my fears. But could I tell my mom that I hated E.T. and wanted the demon freak out of my room because it gave me nightmares? No. I tried. I did. I hinted at it at first and my mom just laughed and said, "But, honey, you love E.T." Right... who couldn't love such a cute creature as the stupid alien that ate Reese's Pieces and drank beer? I tried again. "Mom, can I please take down the E.T. stuff. I don't like it anymore." Mom didn't laugh this time. "You mean to tell me that you're already sick of E.T.? Do you know how many people bought you E.T. things? And now you don't like him? Are you so ungrateful that you'd get rid of their gifts so soon?" And so E.T. stayed up... for over a year. I was traumatized by everything in my room for over a year because I couldn't stand up to my mother. And now, at 22, I'm traumatized by everything in my room because I can.