Here’s the tea…
I spoke briefly in “The Night Owls” about my parents thinking my obsession with night time was strange. My sleep habits were one of many things that set me apart from my family. When I finally came clean to my mom the shit was so deep we needed boots. I could not lie anymore! I think she kind of assumed, but me confirming it made her sad. I vaguely remember her crying and then saying “all the dance classes and late night dance sessions in the basement really paid off.” My mother has always had an ability to find the bright side of things.
I told my mom every thing growing up, so to keep that from her was hard for me. I always figured she knew because of the costumes in the dryer and the stacks of cash laying on my dresser from the night before. I’m pretty sure she did, she was just in denial. I felt better after I told my mother the truth. I never planned to tell my father, but in “true mom fashion” she went and told him herself. My father isn’t the type of man to display any kind of emotion, so if I had to guess what the exchange was like, he took the information in, probably sighed a long sigh and went back to watching the weather channel. He just ignores it. I can’t say I blame him. That’s one way of coping. I worked with a girl in Indiana at Déjà vu whose dad used to come in and watch her and get dances from the girls. I suppose that is the opposite end of the coping spectrum. #nowthatsthefuckingtea