No Longer Blind
Written November 2003
“We’re not leaving until you
put on real shoes,” my mother said sternly.
“I’m fine in sandals,” I said.
“Do it.”
“Why? I’m wearing pants. You can’t see my legs.”
“Go put on real shoes.”
“If that was me, I would be grounded by now.” That
was Joe, my brother, always the child in trouble.
“Do it, Debra.”
“Why?”
“Why does she get away with it?”
Mom abandoned me to answer Joe. “She knows I’m
right and she’s going to do it.”
But do I know she’s right? Is she?
Last year, she would have been right. Six months ago,
she would have been right. Now, she’s far from right. I’ve changed in the
past year more than she can imagine. I no longer follow along blindly, but
instead I have opened my eyes and do things for myself.
As children, we didn’t think for ourselves. We saw those
older than us as those who knew. Our parents—and other adults—could do no
wrong; they knew everything. We trusted them, and, as good children do, obeyed
them. We didn’t question their decisions, just did as they told and assumed
that they were right in asking those things of us. We never thought twice
about what we were told to do. We just accepted things.
Different people lose that at different ages. I held
onto it. Ten-years-old, eleven, twelve, thirteen. I held onto it. I listened
to my parents, and obeyed them without thinking twice about what I was doing.
I didn’t stop to think, is this really right? What my parents said
to do had to be right. They were older, and they knew better, and they could
anything. They were perfect, and their views were perfect. What other adults
said to do had to be right. Adults had been in the world longer, and so obviously,
they knew better than I did. What they said was to be listened to and obeyed,
never questioned.
I stopped that sometime in this past year, as a fourteen-year-old.
I realized two things. First, my parents aren’t perfect. No one’s perfect.
Everything my parents do is not right, nor is everything wrong. My parents
aren’t the divine wisdom of it all. They’re human, as we all are. Second,
I’m not my parents. What’s right for my parents might not be right for me.
What they believe in might not be what I believe in. Why should I do things
that aren’t right for me?
I’ve stopped. I don’t just accept things anymore. I think
them out for myself. I don’t just obey, but rather, I consider. Is this
right for me? Will it do me good, or will it cause trouble? Does it go against
what I believe is right? I ask myself these questions. I don’t do as
others want me to do, for them and not for me. I set my own goals and go
for them. I do what I can to do what I feel is right, whether that means
going against others or not. I admit, I will go against my parents or others
to meet my goals. I don’t let go of something once I grasp it.
It’s not that I never do as I’m told now. I’m not a troublemaker.
There’s a difference between thinking and doing for myself and being a troublemaker.
A troublemaker disobeys just to disob ey. I disobey for a reason: I do what
I think is best. And when I’m wrong, I punish myself. I don’t run wild, disobeying
for just to disobey. I hold reason for things, whether those reasons are logical
or emotional. No one can blame me for being a troublemaker.
The big difference is that in past years I have tried
to do everything I was told, just assuming that my parents were right, and
now I think for myself. I choose what I believe is right and what
I believe is wrong. I choose what I do and not do. This is the biggest
change I can remember ever making. It’s a step up in life.
Everyone needs to learn to think. It’s part of growing
up. We can’t stumble along blindly; that’s child’s play. Everyone must at
some point learn to think for him or her self. That’s what I did. I started
to think for myself. My eyes had been closed to the world, not seeing anything
but my parents’ views. Now they are open, and I see things, and I judge them.
I’m in control of myself.