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Was I upset that the drinking age wouldn't come around for another three years? Hell no!
One of the benefits to living in the south is the openness and bountiful places to get lost, or stuck and have a legitimate excuse in the slower-paced lifestyle. With what there was to do in the sticks, there was plenty of room to do it where only the foolish, or the particularly rowdy would be caught.
No, I was looking forward to a more literal sense of freedom. I was counting the days until I could bust out of the confines of this town and strike out on my own.
However, I quickly learned, after reaching eighteen that having a car and the power of adulthood behind me wasn't the key to the world I was hoping it would be.
In fact, it didn’t take long for me to realize that what adulthood meant for me was forced socialization and a stricter view of who I spent my time with.
Up until my eighteenth birthday, if I were to bring home a cowboy or rebel in any other forbidden manner, I was going through a phase.
Now, whenever I did anything my parents, or the church deemed inappropriate, I was acting like a child and I should know better.
The problem with that was, I did know better, I just wasn't ready to do better.
Maybe I never would be and unlike my parents and the rural community in which we lived, I was okay with that.
I've never been the traditional southern bell that everyone expects from a family of my prestige but what has the status quo have to offer me?
Apparently, it has to offer nothing more than added responsibility in the same town I looked so forward to escaping and far more frequent mandatory dinners.
Tonight, was one of those nights. My parents thought that me now being an adult, I should sit through their boring dinners, smiling and acting interested until the old bastard finally had the decency to leave.
This was for my parent’s wellbeing and continued wealth. While I understood the basics of their ideas, that didn’t mean I had any interest in it.
The day I received my inheritance, I was going to use it to follow my dream, whatever that was. I knew that before I could commit to wanting anything, I had to get out of this town and figure out what there was to be excited about.
Small town politics and spending my whole life looking forward to a roll in the hay was far from what I wanted in my life.
I wanted adventure, excitement, and something more than this southern wasteland. However, since I had never had the ability to venture into the outside world, beyond the town limits, I had no idea what to expect. I could be a world traveling prodigy, or I could be a vagrant. I might not know much about the real world, but I knew enough from watching the blue-collar workers struggle to make ends meet and drown their sorrows every Saturday night that I didn't want to be like them.
So, if I was going to run, it was going to be towards something. I needed a purpose, or a plan, which I hadn't been able to devise quite yet. Therefore, I wasn't about to forsake my family’s wishes and my fairly stress-free lifestyle simply out of curiosity.
I realized that until I could figure out a solid plan
, I still needed my parents. It was something I was slightly ashamed to admit and the cynical part of me had concluded that they wanted it that way. Yet, since I knew my boundaries and was certain that leaving home with nothing would ensure certain disaster, I had incentive to play nice.
So, when they requested I join them for another boring dinner with a man who could be my grandfather, simply to show face, I begrudgingly agreed.
Dinner was served at exactly 6pm and the table was set for a traditionally country, home-cooked meal.
Of course, there was no alcohol, since we were a good Christian family and knew to keep our liquor where no one would find it but otherwise, it was a magnificently charming display.
My mother had made home-cooked fried chicken and mashed potatoes with green bean casserole and chocolate pie for dessert.
One thing I had to say about my mother, was her ability to cook was a true gift. She could make anything taste good.
Which, when she tried to teach me how to cook and I almost burnt the house down, I'm sure it was quite a disappointment.
My mother had only asked me to help her prepare a meal once and I had screwed it up. Instead of trying to teach me, she had told me I was unteachable and never tried to show me anything culinary ever again.
When my father found out what had happened, he mumbled something about pitying my husband and hoping he had enough money to hire a chief.
That particular lack of encouragement stuck with me, making me hope that there was something I was good at, that would make me a presentable wife.
And they wonder why I rebel? I thought before shaking my head out of the memory, realizing now that I had spent far too much time looking at a plate of fried chicken.
"Lord, girl, are you that hungry? You keep that up, Mr. Shields is going to think we don't feed you," my mother insisted, and I turned with a forced grin.
