She has really done it this time. My mother has taken it upon herself to throw out some of my shoes! Most of my shoes in fact! I found a bag on the floor in the living room with most of my shoes in it. Sneakers, boots, and other shoes as well.
Apparently she went into my room to “clean up” (although I think she was looking for Mary Jane again), found my shoes under the bed, and decided they needed to be thrown out. Why? Well to her she said they looked old. Most of those shoes were less than 2 years old and all of them were less than 4 years old, so I don't really know what she is talking about. But what do you think? Do you think they look old?
In my opinion the old excuse is just a way to impede upon my freedom. She is doing it purposely because she doesn't like my style.
Just last summer I purchased a pair of puffy “skater shoes”. I know she doesn't agree with the skater style but I purchased the shoes to walk around Petersham Massachusetts when I was doing research in Tom Swamp. These shoes were special because they were my first pair of skater shoes, and the most comfortable pair of shoes I ever brought. I don't know the exact name of the sneaker (I was never interested in names on clothing), but I think these shoes were still good.
Any normal person will tell you these shoes are perfectly fine. They have no holes in them, they are comfortable, and they still have a few more years of abuse to go through before they can be considered old. Not only that but they cost MONEY. My money. The money I earned last summer. If she was throwing out clothing she had purchased for me, it would be one thing, but she is throwing out clothing I purchased for myself.
And for what? Again I believe it was to take away my freedom. Style is Freedom. My style is not gangster like she wants it to be. So by taking away my style and buying me jeans which are (purposely) too big for me, she replaces my style with hers. She has also brought me sneakers that I would never buy myself in a million years. Older people reading my blog might be saying “Your so ungrateful you have a mother that cares; count your blessings; when I was your age we never got anything new unless our clothes were broken”. To this crowd I say, why fix it if it ain't broken? I like my style. In my lifetime I have met more diverse array of people than my mother has. Not only because I have been to college, but I notice it when I speak to her. I am more accepting of other peoples cultures and religions than my mother is. All my mother knows is NYC. She has been living here for so long that she forgot that there is a life out there. A world that not only has gangsters but business people, artists and musicians. And most of them wear clothes that aren't too big for them. Clothes that fit. And names on clothes aren't important to them. Whatever is affordable and comfortable would work!
NYC is like a prison, and she is trying to institutionalize me. Large jeans, baggy shirts. Gangsta clothing. Why? Well I can blame her religion for one thing. “Honor your mother and your father”. I will honor her when she decides that I have a right to wear clothes I feel comfortable in. Sometimes I wish I would get shot. Especially in my gangster clothes. Then I wouldn't have to wear them, and I wouldn't have to deal with her trying to stress me.
I mean, seriously, what is wrong with these sneakers?
She has taken my jeans that were ripped and CUT THEM INTO SHORTS. Most of the jeans I had are now shorts. Impromptu shorts. Not even real shorts one would buy, but shorts with ragged edges where the cuts are made, which are uncomfortable and itchy, and in some cases above the knee (when I sit down). I hate it here. Jeans with rips in them were my style. On a normal day I would go out with those jeans. I would enjoy the breeze they brought to my leg, and yes I even enjoyed MAKING THE RIPS MYSELF! She has taken away not only my style, but my art.
Has anyone ever seen Cloverfield? In the beginning of the movie the guy has a camera, and he doesn't know how to use it well. He is shopping with his girlfriend, and while walking through the streets of NY, he points his camera down. Guess what, HE HAS RIPS ON HIS JEANS!!! He is a young man (somewhere between 25 and 33), and he gets to choose his own style. To anyone who gets to pick their clothing, and wear it comfortably without their mother cutting their pants, throwing away their shoes, or looking for drugs in your dresser, I ENVY YOU.
Style is freedom. And I choose to live free or die. How am I going to go into a job interview with baggy jeans, brand new (shiny) sneakers, and a shirt with some dumb design, and expect to be taken seriously! A plain shirt, fitted pants, and shoes that show how hard I work, and my long history of walking around the streets of Manhattan are much better attire to tell my story.
Her religion teaches her to be proud. Separate things that are clean from those that are dirty. Light from dark. So even though we are so poor, that her limited ability to pay rent has kept her in the projects for 2 months, I still have to look like a gangster who has 100 dollar sneakers, and jeans meant for Santa. This is her proud mentality. She has 3 credit cards, and while they are not all maxed, I ask her, why doesn't she cut one? Why does she not just pay the most expensive one, and get rid of it to cut down her expenses?
She likes to be poor, and not have money. This is my only conclusion. Her taking away my style, my freedom is more than a statement against me, it is a statement against my future. She was looking to see if I had drugs in my room, but now I understand why. It was not because she wants me to be clean, it is because she wants me to sell the drugs to make money.
When I get a job I am moving out. Somewhere far far away, and I will be happy in my humble home, if I never see her “too proud to let your son be himself” face again.