My mother was a pointer. She pointed at every last thing in her line of sight. It was an additional lesson in tedium in our already unbearable family vacations. Even as a kid, I knew she did this out of desperation for someone to pay attention to her, any kind of attention to make herself seem relevant, more than just a mother, but as someone with independent thoughts and opinions outside of feeding and cleaning us. Thus, pointing.
"Look, a tree! Two trees! Three trees! A whole row of trees in the median! LOOK!"
"There's the library. Right there. See, that sign? It's for the library. No, we're not going there."
"Would you just look at that...?" (No one looks up to see what she is pointing at, and resentful silence follows.)
From my nest of pillows and books in the backseat, I never bothered looking up to see what she was going on about. I wasn't a child filled with much hope, and I knew better than to think that one day she'd point out a kitten riding a monkey riding a goat. It was easier to just sleep and dream of such things, than think my mother may actually point out something of interest. I read a lot books about magic and kids with ESP (oh, Willo Davis Roberts, you really got me through some hard times).
All this pointing has done a number on who I am as an adult. Sure, we all point, and say really mundane things to each other that most of us can observe on our own without any outside assistance. At least those of us who aren't blind, and have reasonably functioning cognitive skills. Therefore, I do my best not to fall in to the habit of pointing at things no one could possibly care about without first expressing an interest in it. If you're not looking for the grocery store, I'm not going to point out that we just passed one. You'd be surprised at how often people point out grocery stores. Seriously.
Unfortunately, my aversion to paying attention to other people's pointing, has made it so I don't always understand why someone may be pointing in the first place--that it may come from more than an emotional neediness for attention. The Boy points at a certain building on Airport Blvd every single time we happen to drive by it. And every single time I fail to understand what the fuck he is trying to get me to look at. My first thought is either I'm about to hit someone or someone is about to hit me. Of course by the time I realize what he was pointing at, I'm about a block down the road, and he is pouting. There's a great memory associated with that building, and he is pointing to remind him, us, of this special event in our past. I'm ignoring his positive pointing. I'm ignoring something important to him, and I don't mean to, but that is just not how good memories work for me. This drives him crazy, and at times hurts his feelings, and I really don't mean for that to happen. Yet, it does. Every time. Gah.
He's also very fond at pointing at things that we already own or have a mutual interest in, like a red wall! We have a red livingroom, so I am forever being made to look at other red walls whether on television or in a store. He just loves pointing out red walls. Or couches that our similar to our couch but perhaps in a different color. This is when I lose patience. I feel guilty when I don't immediately recognize the place on Airport Blvd where we shared a meaningful evening, but I completely don't care about these other things. Obviously I am a heartless bitch. I'd rather go home and look at our red walls and nice furniture together, than stand in a store tring to bond over something we bought in the past.
Ho hum. This probably now means every time we are in the Target at 183 and Ohlen Road, I'll be subjected to him pointing at the dressing room. And probably elbowing me in the ribs.
Thus, I will probably continue to roll my eyes and be a really impatient jerk when something is pointed out to me. Try not to be surprised, and definitely don't be hurt. Also, I have a feeling I probably point all the time without realizing it.
No comments:
Post a Comment