Why I Never Wanted My Parents’ Jobs #nablopomo

Today’s Prompt: When you were a kid, did you want to have the same job or a different job than your parents when you grew up?

Oh heeeelllll no I didn’t want my parents jobs!!
Honestly, I feel like my personality, plus seeing my parents and how hard they worked is what made me know four things for absolute 1000% sure:

1. I was going to be a stay at home mom by hook or by crook

2. I was going to own my own business instead of having a dickhead boss to answer to

3. I’ll never marry a cop or a fireman.

4. I’ll never do meth. (I’ll explain)

So my mom was (well, still is…until she gives in and moves her ass down to florida to be close to her grandbabies) an HR Executive. She’s been the Global Head of HR for several large firms. I actually enjoy HR for the brief stint I did it (probably because I just like being all the way up in people’s business), but I never wanted to have her job.

As a kid you don’t realize what a crappy job motherhood is. Especially a working mother. My god, it’s thankless. You get up early, handle your family, then get to work and deal with the a-holes there all day, then come home to work more, cook, clean, take care of your kids. Jesus. It’s hard. Harder if your kid is an asshole like I was. Hats off to mommy and all the other full time working (outside the home) mamas out there.

As a teen I didn’t mind my mom not being at home, but when I was younger I wanted her.

I was raised by my gram mostly, and my aunts. I loved it because I got away with everything, and never got beatings like my cousins lol, but I wanted my mother. I knew as a teen when a little bit of introspection started… that I didn’t want to have kids missing me on the regular. I knew I wanted to be home with my babies until they reach the point where they want nothing to do with me.

So I figured I’d marry someone super duper rich (#failed on that life goal) and not have to think about money, just my babies! But once I started to learn myself…and have a bunch of jobs… I realized real quick that a: staying at home with babies and doing nothing else but momming would likely be boring for me and b: I’m not built to work for someone else long term. I just don’t have it in me.

My dad recently retired from the NYPD. He was a detective for my whole life almost. The man worked crazy hours, all the time and my mom worried all the time. Hell, I worried all the time. I remember he had these 2day switch shifts, 2 days working a normal day schedule, then 2 days working 4pm – 1am, then 2 days off, repeat repeat repeat.  I hated those 4pm-1am days. I’d go to bed at a normal time at night but looking back I realize I was a light sleeper because I’d be subconsciously waiting to hear the door open downstairs knowing daddy’s home safe, so I could settle in for my “real” sleep.

I’d hear the door downstairs, and dad trying to be quiet coming in for the night, then I’d hear my mom’s bedsheets rustle knowing she’d be going downstairs to be all Jamaican and offer him a plate of food.

(He got the right one, cuz I dare John to think I’m getting out of my warm bed to fix him a plate… Love Language be damned. Make your own food, it’s 2am!) Once I heard them talking and giggling I felt “safe” enough to go back to sleep.

That is so not healthy. I have anxiety issues yo. #workingonit

But I’m glad the old man (OK he’s only like 57 or something) retired, finally. I knew I would never want to be in my moms shoes. If I was worrying like crazy, especially when crazy stuff like 9-11 (for which Daddy was a first responder) goes down, then only God knows the levels to which that woman was worrying. ::shudder:: Nah. No marrying cops or firemen. Nope. I wouldn’t even date one.

Now for the meth… this goes hand in hand with Daddy’s job. He’d show me some horrible, gruesome, disgusting photos of his crime scenes, that looking back… is kind of a twisted thing to do.  “Hey Danza, wanna see a dead guy?
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” “Yeah Dad!” wtf?!  I will never forget when I was in 6th grade, my dad told me some stories of a girl from a case who was all high on meth and cut her face open with a can opener.  Now, I don’t know why this of all the “don’t do drugs” scare-tactic stories my dad tried with me really stuck… but it did.

Maybe it was lowkey vanity, like “OMG I dont wanna ruin my face, meth isn’t worth it!” but whatever it was, that story did the trick. (Not like I was offered meth every day or something — or…ever…actually….—, but if I ever was….I’d say an enthusiastic NO, dammit!   But weed on the other hand. Yeah….  Nobody cuts their face open after smokin some ganj.

Hmmm…..This is probably a good place to end.

Did you want your parent’s jobs when you were a kid?