Peter Pan Syndrome

I think "Peter Pan Syndrome" is a mental condition where it's host refuses to grow up. Preferring to remain a child forever. I don't think I possess this impairment. Granted, I look pretty damn good for my chronological age. Despite the protest of my family members, both immediate and extended, I'm aging rather gracefully. Especially when compared to individuals I grew up with. Yikes! Most of them (if not all) look decades older than I. Haggered. The years have not been kind, and perhaps it is because I "refuse to grow up". Or maybe, more specifically, I put absolutely no merrit in chronological age, and don't stress out about the passing years.

That, however, doesn't explain why the hell my mother refuses to treat me like an adult. It seems like every conversation I have with the woman, winds up a heated discussion on what I should be doing with my life and what I shouldn't be doing. Always talking to me like I'm a retarded and shouldn't be let off my leash. Like I haven't got any f*cking idea how the "real world" works.

I am "x"-number of years old. I own my own f*cking house. I own my own f*cking vehicle. Both purchases I made on my own without someone having to hold my hand. Yet at the same time, I get shit for buying them. Well, not the vehicle so much, but with the house there was a comment made by my mother about how I should have waited until the housing market settled rather than buying it during the housing craze which occured a few years ago. Maybe that's correct, but I can't go back in time and change that. I'm not Marty Mc-f*cking-Fly. The vehicle I bought wasn't a f*cking DeLorean with the Mr. Fusion garbarator feature. So why f*cking mention it.

What kicked off this tyrade was this morning. I called her up to wish her a "Happy Easter" and to inquire about the festive dinner she's making this afternoon. I mentioned to her how I went out the other night and purchased a new stove for my house, which will be delivered next week. The first question out of her mouth was "How much was it?" It's always about the f*cking money with her. No comments like "Oh good for you." or "Yes, you really needed that." "How much was it?" I told her and because it was a few bucks more than hers (she cheaped out and got the $400 bargain stove that will likely cack in another four years or so) she starts freakin' about I didn't need to spend "all that money".

I didn't "spend all that money". I got the best buy for my buck. The stove has convection heating. A power burner which allegedly boils water in twice the time. (I don't know how long it takes for water to boil normally, but I suspect it's faster than the 15min my current stove takes.) And it has a warming burner. It's a white flat-top stove made by Kenmore, and while price-wise it cost more than twice of the one my mother bought, I believe it's lifetime will also last a hell of a lot longer than my mothers too.

In the end.., I'm not a f*cking idiot. I'm able to walk, talk, drive, and fend for myself quite nicely. And while I don't stay on the "straight and narrow" path that most people travel throughout their dull and mundane live, I think I make out pretty f*cking okay. My late father never treated me like a child. If memory serves, he never treated me like a child, even when I was a child. Whenever I made a mistake in life, he'd let me know it, and I'd learn from it. My mother's approach is the opposite. When I make a mistake, she mentions it for years thereafter. Even when I don't make a mistake, she makes it seem like I made the wrong choice... For years thereafter.

My mom isn't old, not by my definition, but I know she won't be on this earth forever. In all honesty though, I bet she'll out-live me, but in the meantime, I should cherish her good traits. She is generous and caring and is willing to lend a helping hand whenever I request it. She's a good grandma to my nephew and is a super-super friend to all of her pals and neighbours. I just wish she'd share more of her good traits with me, rather than give me the gears all the time. I just wish she'd allow me to "grow up" in her eyes, instead of viewing me as a goofy little kid always in need of a helping hand out of trouble.