Everyone’s seen the memes and have laughed at the text posts containing hashtags like #GrowingUpBlack or #GrowingUpWithHaitianParents or #GrowingUpHispanic, and I’ll admit I’ve seen some pretty funny ones which of course, as a young black woman, I could relate to. But as a 21-year-old reflecting back on her upbringing with very strict conservative parents, my smile is replaced by a shiver and the resurfacing of rage that never truly went away.
There are popular sayings like, "Strict parents create sneaky children" or "Strict parents raise the best liars’, but if you want the truth behind those “proverbs,” I’ll tell you. They apply to mostly white parenting. As a teenager, I never tried to sneak out. Ever. Not because I was afraid of the possibility of getting caught; I already knew I was going to get caught, without a doubt. I’ve shared some stories of my upbringing with close friends of mine, and some of them were disbelievers, passing me off as a pansy who was afraid to take risks. What they didn’t understand was the insurmountable determination my mother had when it came to keeping me and my siblings in the house. My mother knew each and every floorboard that squeaked and the varying tunes of the squeaks so she could determine if we were taking a midnight trip to the kitchen or on our way to the bathroom. If we were foolish enough to try the front door, we would’ve been greeted by a landmine of pots and kitchen utensils laid out right infant of the threshold. You know how everything sounds louder at night? That is definitely true when it comes to the clanging metal of a pot and the scraping of forks and knives.
So you’re probably wondering, "What the hell? Why does she leave out kitchenware in the middle of the night like some boobie trap?" To answer this, apart from being extremely strict, my parents, especially my mother, were highly religious. Thus, my mother took to laying out a fork and knife positioned in the shape of a cross underneath a pot to “ward off bad spirits.”
My parents were also overly fond of nighttime check-ups on us in the random ungodly hours of the night. The ol’ pillow underneath the covers to look like a person was sleeping in the bed wasn’t going to fool anyone. My mom would rub our foreheads or touch our chests to make sure we were alive and breathing before going back to bed. If ever in the case where a nighttime check-up wasn’t performed or the boogie trap by the front door wasn’t prepped and ready, say one of us did want to sneak out, our mom would know and base her intuition on a dream she had or some tingle in her left foot. Superstitions are powerful things to be reckoned with when you’re growing up with black parents.
Sneaking out wasn’t the only issue I had. My main issue was not being allowed to hang out at all. Schools finished? Must go straight home. A friend is having a party? Get dropped off and most likely they’ll wait outside until the party is over. Sleepovers? Never. Even as I approached my senior year in high school, my parents found every reason in the book not to let me walk home with friends who lived close by. I was always dropped off in the morning and picked up in the afternoon – 3:15 on the dot. Its like my parents thought I was going to be kidnapped, bombed, hit by a car, raped, or all of the above the moment I stepped out on to my front porch. To say it was all exhausting would be an understatement.
After a while, the urge to hang out disappeared, and I guess that’s the worse part of all. When someone tells you "no" all the time, you learn to stop asking right? Eventually, the desire goes away. I can testify to that. My freshman year of college, I was a shadow. I would go to school, attend class, then come straight home. I didn’t join clubs and I didn’t make my first friend until months into my first semester. I never attended any parties (and still haven’t) and couldn’t dream about dorming or spending the night out of my house. The thought of my parent’s reaction to me doing such a thing was enough to scare me straight.
The thing about strict parenting is the intention behind it. As a teen, of course I thought my parents were being totally unfair, but as I grew older I could see that they held my best interest at heart, but at the same time, they had many faults as well. I know I was a well-behaved child. I got good grades in school, never got detention, was never suspended or expelled, hung out with great kids as well, so I would've appreciated some trust from my parents. That's an essential element for a harmonious relationship between parent and child: Trust.
I wish my parents would've trusted me to walk home from school. I wish they would've trusted me to go to the school dance. I wish they would've trusted me to go to the movies on Saturday night or hang out at the mall. I wish they would’ve trusted me enough to not hover over my shoulder while I was on the computer to make sure I wasn’t talking to strangers in sketchy chat rooms. I wish they would’ve trusted me enough to not confiscate my cell phone every night to read my texts. I wish my parents would’ve trusted me.
With two weeks to go before my 22nd birthday, I still find myself butting heads with my mom frequently as I grow into the person I want to be and venture out on my own. She still sees me as the small child that used to crawl into bed with her whenever I had a nightmare. When I want to hang out with my friends, I still get the never-ending stream of text messages asking where I am, who I’m with, when am I coming home, etc. I’ll admit, I’ve gotten annoyed on more than one occasion, and in those moments, I say things I don’t mean. I say anything to try and get the point across that I am an adult and I need my independence. Sometimes I get through to her, but more often I don’t.
As I reflect on my experience with my strict parental guidance, I can’t help but wonder what kind of parent I’ll be when the time comes. Will I be like my parents? Strict? Controlling?Uncompromising? Or will I be more lenient? I don’t want to fall into any of those extreme categories, but I do want to create a balance of discipline and trust with my child(ren). That’s all I can ask for, right?
To the many others who I know can relate to this, regardless of whether or not you are a teenager still journeying towards adulthood, or someone my age just trying to secure your place in the world, I know it’s tough dealing with parents like ours, but be patient. Talk it through. Perhaps create some guidelines with your parents to put them more at ease with you doing your own things. Just don’t lose your temper. In those times, words are exchanged that can hurt feelings and ruin relationships for years to come. Just try to remember that when our parents were growing up, wherever they were, the times were better. We live in a world that seems to be falling apart little by little every day. Our parents just want the best for us.
