Dislike probably is the right word. Hate’s too strong, and I wouldn’t go near love. Even like holds too much of an emotional attachment, in other words, it’s pushin’ it. So I guess regarding my feelings, the best my family can expect is dislike. And not some form of ridiculous, obsessive dislike, just a slight irritation in their company.
I’m not blaming it on them, they’re decent people and I’m obligated to respect them. I suppose if there’s anywhere to place blame, it’d be on the fact that I was two weeks too late to the apparent appointment that was my birth. The overdeveloped fetus that was me had become too comfortable and content in my solitary environment. Sure, the nine months were great – but those last two weeks, they were what established my thirst for independence and a self-regulating lifestyle. This may seem ironic, seeing as I was in my mother’s stomach at the time of this revelation towards liberty, but can you really think of a more secluded place than the dark, soundproof, compressed barrier known as the womb? I can’t quite recall, but I can only imagine that those were the best months of my life.
But those happy, unbothered times are behind me now. The abundance of privacy has been lost. And this is where the dislike comes in. As I’ve mentioned, I like being alone. There is nothing I like to hear more than the calming vents, refrigerator rumbling, and the silent air passing through my ear drums within my confined home. The sweet serene sounds of nothing cannot get any better because at the end of the day, I am home alone. Thus, in that confined home, I would much rather hear anything than, “What are you doing? Are you hungry? Clean your room. How was school?” These are the horrid sounds of interrogation and clutter. I have come to a point in my life where the words “Go away” flows out of my mouth like a hot knife through butter, no effort is needed.
Harsh, maybe. The truth, heck yes. Being home alone, that is my time. Time to be free from those nagging barbarians who are always on my back. For instance, concentration is thrown out the window once footsteps other than my own enter this asylum. I respect the one second greeting of “Hello”, but my father always seems to push the boundaries making that one second wave turn into a fifteen minute attempt to give me “props”, hoping to achieve his goal to relate to his teenage son. On the opposite end, the nagging sister packing for her week-long trip to Cuba further ruins my focused mind. I know I am more excited for her to leave than she is. “Why are you down here? Use your own computer. Should I pack this?” Just leave the country please. I’ve succeeded into persuading my Mother in taking a nice break from the house. One down, two to go. Do not read me wrong, they’re great people at the end of the day, but something inside me makes my body cringe the instant I hear the code locks on my door, “beep, beep, beep”, somebody’s home. My mood turns from blue to red, my face drops, happy boy, to grumpy prude.

This negative transformation of moods is only amplified when I am faced with a week of familial confinement known to happy children as family vacations. The average like to call it family bonding, I on the other hand like to refer it as kidnapping. Being forced to spend consecutive hours in a boxed car with people you see, and live with does not come across as a ball of fun in my opinion. Of course, I am thankful of the kind gesture, especially when their wallets are the ones being emptied, but when it comes down to it, do they really believe that I have any desire to leave the company of my friends? Maybe if they avoided scheduling these so called vacations during the summer which is my time to do what I want, just maybe I would happily go along. Do me a solid and take me out of the country when I have school, homework, tests. That will put a bright smile on my bitter face.

I am a seventeen year old teenage boy; do you really expect less of an attitude? All families have their annoying traits, whether it’s an annoying knock on my door from my Dad, a bratty remark from my sister, or a nag from my Mom, reminding me to do chores. I am a hormonal teen, where my only priorities are friends, school, and partying. I have my whole adult life to ponder away and be thankful for all they have given me. For right now, the door to my room will remain closed and locked, with a big red sign reading “Do not disturb!”