Testing, testing

*Warning - I was angry. I am still angry. I am not past angry. But it's where I am and I have to accept that before I can move forward*

My friend Stacey wrote a most interesting entry about an approach to wedding invitations that, as a person who fought tooth and nail with her family about inviting every single second cousin, really appealed to me. If I recall correctly, she had read about this in a 'how to save money on weddings' article on consumerist.com - how do we weed out the people who are coming out of social obligation and the hunt for free cake? Only the people who could answer the following questions would be issued an invitation to the wedding.

1) Name the city I'm living in now.
2) Name at least two of my closest friends.
3) Name my current employer and my past employer.
4) Do I have any kids?
5) Do you know the name of my fiancé? Bonus question: Where and when did we meet?
6) Do you know where my parents are and whether they are still alive?
7) Name at least two of my hobbies.
8) How old am I?
9) Where did I go to college?
10) Name my last boyfriend before this engagement.

Now I'm pretty partial to this idea. Thanks to a major natural disaster, my wedding was pretty small and included only very immediate family and friends. But I still had to address what seemed like a jillion invites and put a stamp on every single one, even the last-minute ones that my in-laws requested. You know, a week before the wedding when they ask, "Oh, did you remember to invite so-and-so, the guy who was my postgrad student and I was his thesis adviser?" Seriously? Seriously.

Reading Stacey's blog and the above questions got me thinking. I've been struggling a lot lately with my relationship with my parents and that sense of obligation that I feel that makes me buy plane tickets to see them every year, even though they haven't been to Boston to see me since my wedding. It's that little voice inside that says, "Well, if you left your husband three days earlier than you'd planned, you could see your parents for two days while you're in Seattle, just before you're about to work on a 10-day contract with brand new music and a director." It's also the same voice that says, "Even if you're upset with them, you only get one set of parents. You don't get to pick your family. They're all you have, you have to make nice."
And it occurred to me today that the voice that says all of those things belongs to someone. It belongs to my mother. The voice of guilt, the voice that makes my stomach clench up, the voice of obligation and 'don't be a bad daughter' belongs to none other than Miss Jean. And anyone who's met her in person knows what I'm talking about. If I have a well-developed look of scorn, she's got the Sears catalogue variety. If I'm well-versed in the art of disdain through politeness, she's on freaking Team USA.

Maybe it's not nice. Maybe we're not supposed to test people by quizzing them about their lives, or judge the depth of our relationships by whether or not they can answer these questions. Given her encyclopedic memory, my mother could probably answer all of those questions. But in less than a month, I'm getting on an airplane to New Orleans and will be there for ten days and all I can think about is how I'm going to balance who I want to visit and who I'm obligated to visit. I've got huge quantities of family - aunts, uncles, cousins, plus the parents, the brother, and the globe-trotting Opa who may or may not be in the States at that time - and I can say with absolute certainty that if I do not get in my rental car and drive my ass all over God's country to see (or at least try to see) each and every one of them, I will hear about it. Now answer me this - WHY MUST I BE THE ONE WHO TRAIPSES ALL OVER THE SOUTH WHEN MOST OF THEM DON'T EVEN BOTHER TO PICK UP THE PHONE AND CALL??

Even sitting here, consciously resisting the urge to delete that sentence, I hear that voice in my head:
"Now sweetheart, we all have obligations to our family. Not everyone has enough time to call you and keep up with everything it is that you're doing. We have lives too and we know you're a very busy girl with all that traveling you do. And it's your duty to make an effort to see your relatives while you're in town. And don't say that we haven't been supportive, we came to every piano recital you had when you were little and every choir concert. We've done our part. Now why don't you go set the table for dinner?"

It makes me want to vomit with rage. I have been so angry for so long and now that it's riding close to the surface, I feel it in every part of my body. I feel my jaw starting to clench and I feel my shoulders pulling up towards my ears, just thinking about my mother pontificating to me about the importance of being a good daughter, my duties in being a good wife to my husband, don't be too hard on your father he doesn't understand exactly what you do but would you give him a call please he feels neglected when you don't and don't forget to write your aunt a thank-you card, it's the polite thing to do. IT MAKES ME WANT TO SCREAM.

I've been trying to think of a constructive way to talk about this with her. Him. Either of them.
Maybe I'll write an email. Maybe I'll call. Maybe I'll write a letter. Or maybe I'll just never answer the phone again. Ever. I just can't fake it any more. I can't endure any more of the false politeness, the superficial niceties and the rehearsed speeches about what it is that I'm supposed to do to be a good and dutiful daughter. The phone works both ways and so do the airlines.
I'm so sick and tired of this fake relationship that involves one of us being shamed into doing something we don't want to do and the other holding the carrot of love. Because I'm not a child anymore. And I refuse to play this game any longer. I'm angry. And that's where I'm at.