make my skin crawl

A conversation I had today about family expectations got me thinking. Some amount of time after I came out to my dad, I remember sitting with him in my family room, across from each other in the two armchairs. We had been talking about grad school or my major or something, and he said something I'll never forget. "I don't care who you marry, or whatever, just as long as you can take care of yourself, be self-sufficient."

This was maybe my junior year of college, and I remember being so relieved that he was expressing support for this being-gay business that I didn't even contemplate anything else. But I guess it sums up his point of view--the main goal is to be self-sufficient. To be able to take care of myself. I like that he expected his daughters to do this, and I like that he was straightforward with me about his beliefs.

At the same time, though, I wish there were a little less pressure. In his family especially, success is measured in dollar signs and digits. It's measured in job security and ability to network and the freedom to take time off for "the things you really love." My aunt recently asked me what my "earning potential" would be by next August. I couldn't find the words to explain to her that I'm more concerned with things besides that number.

I'm coming from a position of privilege: my parents are married and my dad has had (officey) work consistently since he graduated from college. My mom's job paid for pool memberships and summer camp and new clothes and all the things that I took for granted as a kid. They have good credit and they sent us to college, mostly due to financial responsibility and saving.

But is that really it? Is a house in the suburbs with bed frames for the kids I'm not planning to have really all I should be shooting for? I wasn't any happier back when somebody bought me American Eagle t-shirts every couple of months. More presents under the Christmas tree didn't keep my mom and me from arguing, and they didn't keep her from arguing with my grandmother either. My dog was a fancy purebred, but we didn't love him because we could trace his ancestry back through decades of champions--we loved him because he was glad to see us when we came home.