My mom has one of those, but she’s not around enough to deploy it. Mostly she shoots that look at my dad when he’s being a dumbass.
I guess that’s the thing about parents: Sometimes they have no idea they’re putting that much pressure on their kids. And sometimes the worst pressure isn’t the kind that’s obvious. Sometimes it’s the kind that builds up quietly based on looks and unspoken disappointment. The kind you don’t even realize is weighing on you until it’s too much to bear.
Me:That sucks, Easton. I’m sorry.
Easton:It’s not like I can talk about it. Who’s gonna feel sorry for me? I have the world by the ass (as my dad says). Everyone thinks I have it easy. I mean, what do I have to complain about? It’s not like they’re yelling at me or anything. But it’s like this…silent pressure. You know?
Me:I mean, as someone whose parents are too busy arguing to notice what I have going on, I don’t get it exactly, but I can see how that would be really hard.
Shoot. I wonder if that was the right thing to say.
Maybe he was hoping I could relate. That I’d be someone with an idea what that kind of pressure feels like and not one who simply…sympathizes. But then the next message comes in and I breathe a little easier.
Easton:Thanks. I really wish they’d back off sometimes, you know? Like, I get that they want the best for me, but it feels like I’m always walking this line. Like I’m gonna slip up any second, WHICH I DID but they don’t know about it, and everything’s just gonna fall apart.
Me:I had no idea you felt like that. You always seem like you’ve got your shit together. You’re always smiling.
Mostly.
Er.
Sort of.
Easton:Looks can be deceiving, and hockey is a great outlet. That’s what my dad says LOL. Like he would know.
That makes me smile.
Strangely enough, hearing that Easton doesn’t have everythingfigured out makes me feel closer to him. Not that I want to put words in his mouth, but it’s like we’re both pretending we know what we’re doing, even when we’re completely lost. Or scared.
Me:Have you thought about talking to your parents?
Easton:Is that a joke???
Easton:Why the hell would I talk to them about my feelings?
That makes me laugh and I giggle on my bed, biting my bottom lip.
Me:I’m serious. Maybe if you told them how stressed out you are they’d back off?
Easton:If I told them WHY I was stressed then I’d have to admit I was a freaking idiot and they’d freak out. If I told them I was overwhelmed by hockey and graduating, they’d just say I need to manage my time better or something. NO thanks.
Me:But what if they don’t? What if they’re supportive?
Easton:They won’t be.
Me:That’s not fair…
Easton:Well. That’s my life.
God, I wish I knew what to say to make him feel better.
Me:You know you don’t have to be perfect, right?
Easton:I know. It feels like I do, though.
Aww, this poor guy! His words hits me harder than I expect. I can’t imagine what it must be like to play a sport, have a scholarship to play that sport in college, get good grades—and then worry about the cops arresting me for a dumb crime I committed after being peer pressured!
Me:You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, Easton. Not to your parents. Not to anyone.
