If “You’ll Always Be My Child” Was A Person

Casual thoughts about my time moving back home.

My dad reuses disposable cups. This is strange to me considering we have a cabinet full of real ones. Ok, maybe I shouldn’t say strange. Maybe I should just say it’s one of the many annoying habits I wish he would quit. Refusing to see me as an adult is annoying habit numero uno.

It’s interesting living with my dad again. Except for freshman year in high school, I haven’t lived with him since I was five or six years old. But 2020 handed me my ass on a silver platter and delivered me straight to his door. At first, I resisted unboxing my adulthood to keep the peace, but my dad refused to let me be.

Despite a solid 10 plus years living life in the “real” world, I was still his child, and returning home gave him a false belief that I might actually still be one. He left me to do all the dishes, take out the trash, etc., etc. I got yelled at for leaving on lights and not doing what he asked at a fast enough pace. It was honestly insane. I’m an adult, ya know? Like really and truly, 100% bill-paying, tax-abiding, emotionally maturing, once-upon-a-time-had-some-savings kind of adult. But if I tried to present myself as such or ask for help with chores? Please.

There were a few times I considered moving in with a toxic ex instead just so I could get some peace, but I already knew how that story would’ve ended. And so, I sent up a prayer, put on my big girl panties, and in a desperate attempt to tackle my problems head-on, I sat down to have a talk with my dad.

At varying levels of volume in-between even louder rebuttals, I laid out a truth that my dad didn’t want to hear. I explained to him that I’m a woman with my own experiences, thoughts, and identity and that he’d have to respect me as such. I told him he can offer advice and I can consider it, but I will not acknowledge orders or demands. I told him I’m still his child, but I’m most certainly not a child.

Now, if you know anything about the stereotypical Black parent, you know it’s a miracle that I lived to tell this tale. It took us a few months to figure out how to navigate our new dynamic, but I’m glad I finally stood up for myself. To be clear, my dad still doesn’t “get” me, but I can see that he has a new respect for the woman I’ve become. I speak my mind. I lay out points respectfully. I consider other points of view. I apologize. 😥 I still do all the chores, though. And my dad still summons me from a distance with a yell, but at least I told him I’m an adult now, right? Right? Ok, let me go take out the trash before my dad gets home. We’ll finish this conversation later.