(When I’m in elementary and middle school, I compete in an annual school spelling bee. I get very tired of participating very quickly, because I always pass the writing “tryout” with amazing scores but struggle to spell out loud, and I hate having to study words when I could be playing or reading books. I also happen to go to a religious school, so I end up having to memorize and be able to recite quite a few Bible passages. I’m talking with my mother, who is much more enthusiastic than I am about my academic endeavors.)

Mom: “I don’t understand. You don’t even want to win. Think of how cool it would be!”

Me: “I don’t know why you care so much.”

Mom: “Because I get to brag about my smart daughter!”

Me: *quoting a Bible verse that popped into my head* “’Do not store up for yourself treasures on earth–’”

(My mother doesn’t let me finish before she runs out of my bedroom and looks towards the ceiling.)

Mom: “WHY DID YOU HAVE TO MAKE HER SO SMART?!”

This occurred when I was five and starting my first day of primary school. For a bit of background, my single mother had just moved to Melbourne with me and my older brother after living in a few semi-rural towns. As a result, I was pretty independent due to being allowed to explore all throughout the day (with boundaries and rules). This was the first time I had lived in a capital city. Additionally, the last town we were in had a wonderful kindergarten that was very similar to a classroom setting, so I was already pretty familiar with what school would entail.

My mother drove into the school parking lot where we could see, up a hill, all the parents and kids in a waiting area in front of the classroom; the school had individual buildings for classrooms instead of one large building. Knowing what I’m like and what I was used to, she pointed to it and said that was where I needed to go. She didn’t even pull into a parking spot; I just hopped out of the car, grabbed my bag, said bye, and went up there.

I remember standing around, seeing all these crying parents and children, and not getting what the big fuss was all about. I was more confused about why we were all just standing around and not getting started, and why all the parents were around. I don’t recall any parents approaching me, but I wonder what they thought seeing this one girl on her own looking bored while they’re trying to ready their children.

After a while, I turned my head and was incredibly surprised to see my mum standing there! I was so shocked and said, “What are you doing here?!” and she, apparently not quite getting what the big fuss what about, either, said, “Well, I saw all the other parents up here and thought I should come up here, as well.”

And while I still didn’t get what the big deal was, I was happy I got to spend a bit more time with my mum before school started. When I brought this up to her recently in my mid-20s, she said she forgot she even came up and thought she just dropped me off until I reminded her.

(When I’m in eighth grade, my class does a large project for what is a combination bake sale and running a small business. We do months of work to plan, design business cards, create stock emails, sell stocks to teachers and other students, and calculate everything from unit costs to how much we’ll need to earn to break even. The only fun part of this entire ordeal is selling our baked goods, which is scheduled to happen on a Friday. Then, a few days before the sale, I come down with the worst case of the flu I have ever had. Even though I’ve been out of school all week, I’m determined to go and sell my brownies, even if I have to sit on the floor wrapped in a blanket and holding a bucket. On the morning of the bake sale, however, I’m bent double over the toilet, insisting between retches that I can go to school.)

Mom: “For the last time, you are not going to school like this!”

Me: “But I—“ *vomits into toilet* “—have to! I—“ *gags again* “I can’t miss this! This is literally the only fun part of the entire project!” *vomits again*

Mom: “No! You’re throwing up and you have a fever of a hundred and three! I’ll bring the brownies to school for you and see if someone else can sell them for you.”

Me: “But I need to—“ *gags* “—sell—“ *gags again*

Mom: “No! You are staying home today!”

(She eventually managed to convince me — however begrudgingly — to stay home. She got a friend of mine to sell the brownies for me alongside her own treats. To this day, I’m put out that I got so sick that I wasn’t able to sell my brownies.)

(I am staying with my parents while looking for a new job. I’ve finished another day of looking for positions and sending applications and am ready to kick back and relax, when my mom comes over to me.)

Mom: “I think I’ve found a job for you. Go to this website.”

(She shows me a piece of paper on which she’s written a URL. I navigate to it and read the listing.)

Me: “Mom… this is a civil engineering position.”

Mom: “Yeah, so?”

Me: “I majored in computer engineering. I can’t apply for this.”

Mom: “Why not? It’s an engineering job. It shouldn’t be too different.”

Me: “Look at the description. They want someone who can design and maintain roadways. I’m good at designing and maintaining computer systems. I’d have to learn from scratch.”

Mom: “What were you doing in college, then?!”

(My mom gets up and walks away.)

Mom: “It’s all engineering! You should be able to do that!”

(I didn’t apply for the civil engineering position. Thankfully, I managed to find a job within my field of study, and my mom dropped the matter.)

(At the end of summer break before my second year of college, my father arranges for me to spend two weeks working as a receptionist in the small private company where he works, while their regular receptionist is out on vacation. I’m just meant to answer the phones, get the mail, and maybe make copies for people in the office. However, I must still interview with the company owner first, which I do. He asks me about the regular things, including past work experience; at this point I have none, and I’m honest about it. I’m a college student with one year of classes and good grades, I can use a computer, and I’m willing to work diligently and do anything they ask; that’s about all I have to say for myself. I do not try to prevaricate about anything – I didn’t even know how back then, and Dad didn’t tell me to try. The owner seems fine with it and hires me on. He actually comes off a lot nicer and more reasonable than I was expecting; the entire time my father’s been working for him, both my parents have gone on and on nonstop about this man always yelling at everyone, throwing tantrums, and seemingly having serious mental problems. I wait for my father to finish work so he can drive us home. Then, in the car, he decides to start in on me out of nowhere:)

Dad: “You know, [My Name], [Owner] is actually a very clever man. I spoke to him after your interview and he made clear that he sussed you out! Yes, he figured you out with ease and could tell right away that you don’t have any work experience at all!”

(I stare at Dad in extreme confusion about his saying something so obvious, but apparently, he misinterprets it to mean that I didn’t understand him. He then even starts shaking his finger at me in emphasis while talking.)

Dad: *as if he’s teaching me some great lesson* “Yes, [Owner] is a very smart, quick-witted man! He could tell very easily that you have no work experience! None whatsoever! It was extremely generous of him to agree to hire you anyway, and you are very lucky, since he could just tell that you have no experience! At all! He cottoned on to the fact that you haven’t ever worked anywhere before! You see, he just saw right through whatever you told him!” 

(And on and on and on in this vein while I’m just flabbergasted. While I almost never argue with my parents, finally, I’ve had enough:)

Me: “Why yes, Dad, I’m quite sure that he could figure out my lack of work experience pretty easily, seeing as I plainly told him about it myself as soon as he asked me! I didn’t try to lie to the man! What exactly is your point here?!”

Dad: *abruptly shuts up, turns away, doesn’t answer me, and keeps silent the rest of the drive home, sulking*

(He never mentioned my lack of work experience again. I still can’t figure out what his deal was. I never let him set me up with a job again, in any case. This stint turned out to be extremely unchallenging and underwhelming; they had so little work for me that I was just sitting around bored for most of eight hours per day.)