Angel Child

I was an angel child. I thrived on my perfectionist, rule-following spirit and the thought of being yelled at was enough to shake me to the core. I once almost drowned because my swimming instructor told me to stay under water until he counted to ten. I stayed under until ten, despite my face turning blue.

I was an angel child, because I loved my parents. I was never grounded or sent to my room. My parents always talked to me and treated me as an equal. I adored and respected my parents as parents and as people.

I was an angel child, usually, but perfect children are bound to take advantage of perfect parents at some point. When my eye doctor said I had to get glasses, my mom being the generous woman that she is, opted for “corneal mold” contacts that would gradually improve my sight, forever releasing me from the hassle of glasses or regular contacts.

I was an angel child, but I hated contacts. I hated putting plastic in my eyes. I fought it and fought it until I decided to do something about it.

I was an angel child, so the first time I got caught in a lie I thought the world was ending. Hiding my contacts in an empty case and staring at my mom straight in the eye pretending to have my contacts in worked for a few short weeks. When my mom inevitably found my hidden contacts, she calmly confronted me while my sobs turned into borderline hyperventilation.

Rebellion isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

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