I don’t drive (it is sort of a long story) which means that when I often get out of class/studio/the subway super late, I will call my dad and ask for a ride home. Every night that this happens I know that I will have to listen to my dad say things like:

(in Greek)

“It is sooooooooooooooooo late, aren’t you tired? Wouldn’t it be nice if you were a teacher? You know, my friend has a daughter that is a teacher. She gets summers off AND ALL THE HOLIDAYS. ”

or

“Ehhh…remember Efie? I think she studied psychology too.  I saw her father yesterday at the cafe and he told me she got a job in a school as guidance counselor. What is a “guidance counselor”? Can you be a guidance counselor ? It is a good job to work in a school for a woman. “

Which is a little better compared to when he would say things like:

“You know Maria around the corner that walks the fat dog? Her daughter studied psychology. The only job she could find was in a bank. Nobody would hire her and she had a Masters degree.”

I don’t think that is fair. Actually, I feel it is awful.

I can imagine it is hard to hear one’s child talk about leaving home. At 17, when I wanted to apply to schools outside of NYC but mom and dad said no, I had no choice but to comply. It sucked but I can understand their point of view and have accepted their feelings that perhaps I was “too young.”  But now, after working so hard to make sure that I have the options my parents hypothetically always wanted to give me, why another roadblock?

Guilt is the worst trick to use.

It eats away at me and has delayed and complicated my decision making for longer than I want to admit. The truth is I will be the first woman to leave my family without a husband or a baby. THAT SHOULD BE A GREAT THING. I realize and have accepted that it has got to the point where I am now preparing myself for the day when I finally give my parents everything  they asked for, for the day that I achieve the goals that they convinced me I wanted (the only goals that will give me worth), just so that I can find myself across the kitchen table, once again staring at their all too familiar disappointed faces as they make their final attempt to lock me in my room.

I feel deceived.