We love them. We despise them. Our ambivalent relationships with our parents can be as chaotic as a Nine-Inch Nails video. It begs me to ask the question: Do parents nag on purpose? I mean, if you could irritate the pants off somebody and get away with it, wouldn’t you? It’s as if they push our buttons on purpose to aggravate us. They provoke us; we snap and get snotty, thus giving them more cause to yell at us. Parents have it down to a science. Are they given an “Annoy the crap out of your kid’s 101” manual when they leave the hospital the day we’re born?

I live on campus during the fall and spring semester (thankfully), but come summer and winter break, I must return home to the confines of my cement cell with the warden breathing down my neck. Well, at least it feels like that. Now don’t take this as parent bashing. It is not in any way that serious. Just a 21-year-old adult needing to vent about her constant battle with being treated like a child. You don’t realize the dramatic change until your first experience with returning home after a semester. There is no more sleeping in until noon, watching a little MTV, fixing some Ramen noodles, showering at 4 in the afternoon, and then hanging out with your friends until 3 in the morning. No, no, no. Forbidden.

Now you are awakened to the sound of a harping mother, who at 9 o’clock in the morning tells you you’re sleeping your life away. Forget about television; didn’t you know the yard needed mowing? If you want to make yourself some lunch, don’t forget to wash your dishes when you’re through because parents have never heard of the words “paper products,” they only have China and Pyrex in their cupboards. Showering in my house at 4 o’clock in the afternoon is out of the question because we have what you call a ‘demand control unit.’ Which means that you can only get hot water from 9:00 p.m to 10:00 a.m. So from 10:01 a.m. to 8:59 p.m., the time when the average person is alive and functioning, you will be taking a cold, frigid shower. Now the really tricky part comes when you want to go out and hang with your friends ‘til the wee hours of the morning.

Me: “OK, mom, see you when I get back.”
Mom: “And what time will you finally come strolling in ‘my’ house after your fun-filled night with the friends I’m sure you never see. Because I haven’t seen you at all for an entire semester, but I understand if you want to hang out with them more than me.”
Me: “Mom, it is 9:30 p.m. You and dad go to bed at 10 p.m. anyways.”
Mom: “Sure, go out! So you can come home at 3 a.m., waking your father and me up because you don’t know how to be quiet. We have to get up early and go to work in the morning, but you wouldn’t know what early is would you, considering you will sleep your life away until noon.
Me: “No, I have to wake up at 8:30 to run errands for you.”
Mom: “Oh, God forbid you actually do some kind of productive work around here. You don’t do anything as it is, except watch VH1 all day (yeah, ‘cause all college students watch VH1). Forget it just go out with your friends and stay out all night and make sure you come home smelling like cigarettes and alcohol.”
Me: “Whatever, see you at 2 a.m.”
Mom: “You better make that 12:30.”

Arrrrrrrggggggggg!!!!!!!!!! To put the icing on the cake she makes sure to embarrass you at all possible cost. Over the summer I was seeing this guy; it was nothing serious, just a few dates. Well, one night he calls right before we go out to say that he is on his way. My mother answers the phone and screams across the room to me, making sure the mouthpiece is as close to her mouth as possible, “Your boyfriend is on the phone.” Thank you Mother. She knows he is not my boyfriend. She knows he is a commitment-phob. I have told her in constant detail that it is nothing serious. Needless to say, that was our last date. He told me I was taking things to fast.

So my mother, feeling guilty, decides to take me shopping. This is always an experience I want to relive more than once. I love it when she points out as loud as possible, so the saleswoman can hear her, that she can’t believe the sweater is $60--soooooo expensive. And there is nothing better than hearing her opinion on the summer dress that I’m trying on. She makes sure to point out that if I want to look like a $2 hooker, I can buy that dress. But that, of course, is after she gropes me in public, making sure it is not to snug in the buttocks area. “Wow, I think you might want to stay away from the brownies at school. Looks like you’ve gained a couple pounds.” Score! That makes my day, Mom. You always know how to cheer me up. She informed me the other day that “I dress like I’m 14.” Even though my friends assure me that I am stylish and mature, I am scarred now and constantly second guessing what I should wear. To be honest, I could go on and on, but I won’t bore you. This is just a little article to sympathize with you on the pains of parents. Can’t live with ‘em. Can’t live without that tuition check. (That was below the belt.)

Success has become the human objective in which to obtain the model social stature defined by the American culture. It is a cultural signifier, which associates human worth to social class. Basically, success has transformed into a cultural sign, indicating the quality of a person. Advertisers feed off of the ideological meaning of success, while anticipating the human fear of failure. For example, women are continually exploited in their struggle for success. Subsequently, the women’s movement has become just another way for our culture to manipulate society by constituting the desired social class with equivocality in terms of success. In other words, building a world around insecurities.

The fabricated image of success in our culture is far from genuine, yet on the contrary; our culture defines success and social status as one and the same. It is seen as a prize, something to be won through achievement. But the achievement is nothing more than the notion of being part of the middle class. And that level of achievement means one thing: buy more, spend more, pay more for less, and pay more for the same. Therefore, social stature is really just the desired level of materialism.
So, what do women want?
Everything.
What do men want?
The same thing.

In order to free the mind from fabricated culture, I think you must look within the mind itself. Success is what you make of it, versus what you were always told. How would you know what a chair looked like unless someone told you? There aren’t any perfect images or ideas in our minds because data cannot exist in a database until the information is plugged in; the latter can be a pretty long process. Sure, the structure of the database maybe divinely created, but the data comes from an outside source—cultural heritage. When one can create their own data, their mind can only then be free. The Buddha was onto something when he figured out the path to happiness involved the cessation of suffering. Our culture fuels our suffering. All our fears stem from not meeting our desired social status, whether that involves being part of the lower-class, middle-class, an athletic team, a club, being an individual, a protester to conformity, a part of the subversive counterculture, anything.

Take for instance a teenage girl, striving to be accepted by her peers. In order to be “cool” the girl hooks to the counterculture of today’s society. She starves herself daily, just so her perfectly healthy body will take the form of a bony skeleton. Still, her 20 pound underweight frame does not mirror the same waif-like reflection of Kate Moss. So, the girl turns to drugs because she associates thinness with drug abuse. All the while, Calvin Klein proceeds to pioneer the heroin-look across America, as if drug abuse was just another aspect of subversive youth, engulfed in counterculture, striving for individualism and protesting conformity. Subsequently, the girl’s fear of not achieving her desired social status drives her to be further manipulated by her culture, and the girl now has a crack addiction to add to her list of issues.

I know our world revolves around the fabricated imagery created by cultures. I recently fell victim to this manipulation. The strive for my desirable stature resulted in two broken back bones, a broken 12th right rib, three days in the Vail Village Hospital, and a bill that will probably be paid the same time I finish paying off my college loans. But everything happens for a reason. My unfortunate snowboarding accident, on Christmas Day, has made me realize that my level of success is what I want. Not what everyone else thinks it should be. I have finally figured out that is doesn’t matter who your sponsors may be, or how much money you win in a contest. It is conquering a goal you set by yourself, and for yourself. Because it doesn’t really matter how the world sees you, since confidence comes from within yourself. And self-worth cannot be bought, no matter how successful you are in society.