I Am Not You

Christine O'Donnell, Republican (and Tea Party) candidate for the 2010 Delaware Senate special election, has a  series of political ads where she says, "I'm not *insert whatever it is she says she's not*, I'm you."

Well, you know what, dad? I'm not Christine O'Donnell. I'm not you.

This comes after my dad's latest rejection of my common app essay. Basically, his logic is, "If I don't like this essay, then you're not submitting it." Which is fine, I suppose, since he's paying for the application fee, but it's not fine when his idea of an acceptable essay happens to only look like one thing.

He even said, "It's all right if you copy my words, as long as they're good."

No, dad, it's not all right. I'm not translating your work. I'm writing my damn college essay, and I'd like it to be about me, thank you very much. Which means, if you don't quite grasp it yet, that I'd like to use my own words to write about things that I feel are important to me.

I think he's more worked up about this whole process than I am. Like in Death of a Salesman. Pushing all of his dreams and hopes onto me, except I'm a loser-ish kind of daughter, and not the perfect overachiever he'd hoped for. But I'm still his daughter, I suppose, and his only one, so he alternates between life-is-all-good gushy happiness and what-the-hell-you're-such-an-idiot rage moments. Seriously, he has mood swings. And I know it's a bit ridiculous, but I'm rather glad he's in Florida right now. Because then I can turn down the volume on the phone and not listen to him scream when he does fall into his all-hell-has-broken-loose persona.

I am so close to just telling him I won't do any of this. Like, not apply to any school that requires an essay. Basically, any school in Canada. And just not putting up with all of this crap.

But it's my future, and I rather like Penn, so I want to do this. And I kind of hate him for making it come down to this, but I guess it's a life lesson in some ways. We can't all have what we want, and there are always the over-controlling supervisors (or so I've heard), and I need to learn how to deal with this so I don't get heart attacks in the future.

(Plus, I can't really hate him, because after all he's my dad and he's not always awful, just sometimes. But I digress.)

Also, my parents believe I must have learned some really great life lesson from all of my moving and such. They want me to write about it, and they think I can write something really great about it. I don't know what to tell them. "No, mom, I didn't really learn that if I work hard I'll always achieve my dreams even in adversity. I just learned that if you didn't belong to begin with you'll always feel like you don't really belong." I also learned that there is no such thing as forever, gee isn't that optimistic? I didn't learn those standard, heart-rending things they want me to talk about.

I've learned to survive, yes. But that is different depending on the person. My version of survival is living in the present. Their version is striving for success. I am okay with drifting. They are not.

I am searching for something, that is it. I am searching, perhaps for that ever elusive home, perhaps for an identity, perhaps just for a sense of peace and freedom. And it's stupid, because my going to college is against what I really want right now, and especially my following what my parents want me to do. But I don't know what to do otherwise. I am at a loss, and with no physical survival skills whatsoever, I am afraid to take that step.

I'm not you, yes, but I'm not me either.

I don't know who I am.