MY Rebellion

           
                                                     My Rebellion                


 I pulled up in front of Debbie’s house and got out of the car, we

were going together to a bridal shower for one of our cousins.

She held out her hand for my car keys, and I was happy to give

them to her. She hated the way I drove and I hated to drive!

I hugged her, then gave her a long look and she gave me a long

look.

I spoke first, “Is that what you’re wearing?” I asked.

She was in jeans and a plaid flannel shirt. True, we weren’t

going to the most formal affair in the world but not

something a little nicer than that? She read my mind

and ignored it.

“What about you, Ma?” she said, “How come you’re not wearing

the blouse that I got you for your birthday?”

I nodded. “It is nice…very pretty…but, I can’t.” I shook my

head and became very occupied with something in my bag.

"Why not, it's your size!".

“Uh, huh, “it fits…but…” I didn’t really want to but I had

to explain, “it’s pink.”

" I know."

“I‘ve mentioned this before. I don’t wear pink.”

"That’s why I got it for you, because I never see you in

that color.”

“That’s right, because … I can’t,” I said.

She shrugged, “What about red. You wear red don’t you? Red is

a darker shade of pink”.

“No, it isn’t. And I love red and all colors except…”

“pink.” Debbie finished my sentence. “ Maybe” she began..." 

I knew where she was going because everyone is psychoanalyst,

have been since Sigmund Freud. We learned from him about

the sub-conscious mind and it’s effect on behavior.

I interrupted her, “Did I tell you that when I was in Vienna I went

with a tour group to Freud’s office? It looked like any other office,

but it did include a couch, was it THE couch?”

I knew that Debbie, and the others talked about me, wondered

what in the world was the matter with me…‘she can’t wear pink’.

Not, ‘she doesn’t like the color, or prefers other colors, that’s

normal… but can’t…?

“You know, I love yellow!” I said brightly, “the color of

sunshine … and blue, the color of the sea and the sky…green,

especially grass green, the color of…”

“grass.” said Debbie.

“Maybe,”she continued with her instant analysis, pink is

 too 'girly' for you, is my theory."

“Hah! I’m as 'girly' as anyone else!” Now I was angry. “What

 about you, in that plaid flannel shirt?”…You look like a

lumberjack! I wanted to say, but didn‘t.

“Because, right after the party I’m going to meet Neil, we’re going

bike riding on the new boardwalk.”

Sure, that explains her outfit, but nothing, nothing explains my

issue. I have wondered about it over the years, tried to understand

it. I didn’t like a puzzle, or a ‘mystery’ (albeit a minor, unimportant

one) hanging over my head and now as a senior, I felt the need to

tie up the loose ends of my life.

“The only thing I can think of,” I confided to Debbie, on our way

to the shower, is that pink, very pink dress that Nana,” (now 97

years old) “bought and made me wear at my Sweet Sixteen party. I

wanted to wear my turquoise dress with the white dotted  trim

around the neckline, but she wouldn't let me."

My resentment stayed with me all that day and then I forgot it. Or

did I? Would Freud  think differently, that it just went underground

for all the years and my refusal to wear pink was my rebellion?

I have seen Debbie roll her eyes and wave her arms innumerable 

times over the years, in reaction to me, but this was different, she 

was driving a car. Keep your eyes on the road and your hands on

the wheel, I thought. 

"Ma," she said, "I can't believe it! All this time since you were

sixteen! How many years is that?” She started counting on her

hand, by decade.

“Never mind the math", I said, "let’s just say it’s long ago."

Although my issue, to quote a well known phrase,' doesn’t

amount to a hill of beans', I knew I couldn’t leave it there hanging

for another…what...half century…ok, more.  Uh, uh, I’m not

getting any younger, I had to resolve it while I still could.

And it would be good for my mother,who was still a pretty smart

lady. Could she have, on some level noticed that she never saw me

in pink after that day?? 

And it would surely be good  lesson for my daughter to see that

with "old age and maturity comes wisdom." Well, sometimes.

 Maybe.

And it would be good for me if I was in fact holding on to anger

 for so long.

We had a wonderful time at the shower, with our family and
friends, and all the high hopes for the future. And for me it was a

good respite from the concerns of the day.
 
But less that a minute after we walked out the door, Debbie

said, "So Ma, your 'problem'...what are you going to do 

about it?"

"What do you mean?"I said, but I knew what she meant.
 
"Y'know, your 'pink thing.' "

"Oh, hmmm," My head began to hurt. What was I going to do?
 
This was big, it required deep thought...or did it?

Really, I scolded myself, would it kill me to wear pink!!

I could start small, like a  pink tank top under a cardigan sweater,

navy blue or black,which would be buttoned almost to the top,

so only a little of the pink peaked through.

Then I'd wait a couple of weeks and wear it again, this time

leaving a few more of the sweater buttons undone,  repeat

it until finally, summer would be here, and I wouldn't wear the

sweater at all.

So Voila! There I'd be all in pink. I was excited. What a pretty

color it was...Or was it all along? (Oy Vey!)  


                                        THE END