Two years ago my parents moved out of the house I grew up in. It was very sad. I had to go home and get rid of all of the stuff I'd been carefully hoarding for my entire life. At the same time I was going through one of those "line in the sand" break-ups; the kind that makes you go up to strange couples on the street and growl "...he will break your heart..." All of the change at one time didn't really suit me.
I didn't actually have to be present for the move. I was in New York, my parents moved from Potomac, MD to Gaithersburg, MD. I didn't see the new house until everything was unpacked into a smaller version of the house that I still picture as "home." I feel like a ghost in the new house when I visit. Like I'm invading some other family's life (a family that happens to have similar stuff).
In the bathroom in the foyer, in a single frame, all five of our names are written in calligraphy. Under each name, the meaning is listed and is accompanied by a pressed flower. My parents have clearly picked out which definition they think fits each family member. They have picked broad definitions for themselves, but have gotten more specific for the three kids. My sister, who is in finance, has been given the definition,"helper of mankind." My brother, who is popular and athletic has been given a similar definition. My definition, however, was set as "contemporary, sophisticated."
"Um. really cool and hard to understand?" I asked myself, "fashionable? that's what my parents think? that I'm trendy? For fucksake, I have a degree in social work, why didn't I get 'helper of mankind?' That's not very social work-y of me..."
It's a little crazy, thinking that much about a cute decoration that my mom probably bought at the beach.
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