One day at recess, back in my tomboy days, my life-long friend, Hannah, announced, "Kylie, your family is the perfect Christian family." She then turned to me and said, "Emily, your family is the dysfunctional family." She concluded by stating, "And my family is just the normal family."

Well, my parents got divorced when I was four, so I suppose that's a first step in the direction of dysfunction. After my oldest brother was expelled from his Kindergarten class, his teacher told my mother that Will's misbehavior was a direct result of bad parenting. When my brother's new psychiatrist asked him what his problem was, Will popped his feet on the shrink's desk, pulled his arms over his head and replied, "I'm God." I might have agreed with him on that, but the doctor prescribed Ritalin and called his "problem" "Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder" instead. As for me, at two I wolfed down Will's Ritalin pills and proceeded to act like a monkey on crack for the rest of the day until my parents discovered my "problem." I was rushed to the hospital, my stomach was pumped, and after the procedure, I proudly boasted, "I swallowed the pills just like Will."

Although Will and my other older brother, Stephen, tended to beat the hell out of each other, I always followed and copied them throughout my childhood. Together we fought, cussed, played, and laughed together. We mocked each other, our school, our Ft. Worth country club social bubble, and most of all, our parents.

My father, Billie Ellis, grew up with his two younger sisters in a trailer on a dairy farm in a small town in Texas. He woke up at five to milk the cows, worked his way through college, and studied when he wasn't working. As I sit in my dorm room, I read over my father's note he wrote before leaving me at Brown.

8-30-06

Emily- These are my tips. Try them for 1^st semester. You deserve to be here- enjoy it.

1-Have fun

2- Go to every class

3- Plan the work- work the plan

4-Outline the courses

5- start preparing for finals Day 1

6- do all papers early- use the writing center

7- on graded courses- keep track of hours. For every 1 hour of class, study 3 hours

8- plan something special for your efforts (massage, facial, dinner)

9- get 8 hours of sleep

10-have fun!

11- your career starts today! Don't be anxious- be joyful-enjoy this year and treat it like a job- A job you love.

12- protect the GPA -Drop a course if necessary

13- Ask for help and learn from those around you

14- have fun!

Love,

Dad

My mother, Mary Perry, isn't quite so organized. She can't even make a grocery list, let alone write college tips in bullet form. She had a comfortable childhood spending her time at the Houston country club with her two older sisters. She attended Vanderbilt University and joined the Pi Phi sorority.

What would Mary do if she had a test tomorrow, but there was a big party tonight?

Mary would go to the party as she did the night before her final in college. She overslept, missed 30 minutes of the test, but met a cute boy at the party. Learning is not only through textbooks, but also through people. Socializing is an important priority in college and life.

What would Billie do? Well, there's no question there-no party. When my dad told his father that he dropped a class because he was going to make a B in it, my grandfather replied, "Hell, if I was going to get a B in a class, I would get drunk for three days!" Yep, that's my dad - the teacher's pet, the suck up, the grade grubber. From grad school to law school and a life of hard work, he finally became a rich man.

While my dad did not write down his sex tips, he did recite them enough times for me to know them by heart. "Emily...sex is fun. I'm not going to lie, and let's face it, it's unrealistic to say that you won't have sex until you're married. But sex is fun when it's comfortable, and it's comfortable when you really love the person. My theory is that if you're not comfortable enough to talk to your partner during lunch about sex, then you two shouldn't have sex at night after a couple of drinks." The discussion continues. "And there are many ways to express love without having intercourse." And finally, he concludes, "And the condom is not good enough. You need to be on the pill, and then of course still have him wear a condom."

But what would Mary do? "Sex isn't that fun. I just don't see the big deal. I wouldn't have sex until I was married. That's what I did."

My parents get along fairly well for a divorced couple, especially as my brothers and I get older. The fighting over when and who gets the kids has almost ceased. Instead of debating who will come watch me play in a tennis tournament, both parents will come and all three of us will go out to dinner. I guess being the youngest was lucky for me. My recollection of the yelling matches is somehow vague. But I do have some sense that my father had a bad temper and control issues during the marriage, which my mom can never forget or forgive no matter how much my dad has changed and no matter how much money he gives her for us kids. That's even considering she is now over big divorce number two and is officially an empty nester.

I guess my mom must be feeling the passing of time because lately she goes about each day as if she's in fast forward. In between her hectic, disorganized day she sings around the house to her new, beloved puppy (a sure sign of loneliness) in her high pitched, energetic voice that makes some people wonder what makes her so happy. People who know her would best describe my mother as comical, energetic, loving, unselfish, and every other great quality. But lately, behind closed doors, she grows tired, weak, and pitiful. As her depression gradually increases, her self confidence slowly declines, and her loneliness suffocates her and me. I find myself listening to her ask, "Should I get a facelift? Should I get a boob job?" In the beginning, we'd dismissed these questions, laughing at the absurdity. But the questions would persist, and I would answer them with a direct "No!" or other weary answers like "I don't know, maybe, sure, yes." This in turn begets the usual "No guy thinks I'm attractive anymore because I'm old and wrinkly. They only like younger women. I hate my job. I have no money." At first, I tell her she is popular, attractive, and well off financially, but her perception is skewed by the Ft. Worth social scene. In her mind, all her women friends don't have to work because they are happily married to wealthy men, they look great because of their plastic surgery, and they have perfect lives. Then, my reassuring comments end, and I tell her to get a new therapist, someone other than her daughter. I tell her to stop obsessing over my tennis and stop giving me advice about my game because she's only a country club player who knows nothing about competing on the national level. I tell her to get some medicine for her depression, to eat more, and to take vitamins. I tell her to grow a pair and stop acting like a victim.

I am regretful, but worse I am scared. I'm scared that I'm imitating my dad's old temper and showing disrespect to my troubled mother. After I spend an hour filling out my mother's profile online, Mary Perry is registered for "E-Harmony.com." Before I leave for college, I inform my mother she has seven days to cancel her E-Harmony subscription if she wants her $278 back. She laughs and says only desperate people use that. I'm thinking, Yeah, I'm staring at one right now. Then I tell her some impressive, made up statistic about E-Harmony's love magic effectiveness. I assure her that her identity is safe; her picture would not be revealed until she opens a conversation with one of her matches. Unfortunately, one of her three matches is a local tennis pro in Ft. Worth who we both know and both find unattractive. So now I know what my mom won't do - date through the internet.

I walk into my dad's place, which is more modern art museum than house. The walls are big and white with abstract, modern paintings on them. The floor is cement, and the counters are slick with no soap to be found by the sink - that might mess with the ambiance. The beds are made and you know for sure no pets have ever lived here, but you wonder if people do either.

I meet my dad outside and laugh at his orange sandals, his designer jeans, and his shirt, that purposely has a hint of paint splashed on one side. My dad is a born again metro sexual. He's a new man with a new image. No longer the poor guy in college who'd have to pick up his date in the "Dusty," he opens my door and then confidently steps into his black sporty Mercedes and immediately turns on his GPS system and his voice command system.

"Dial number" my dad says.

An electronic woman's voice kindly replies, "The number please."

"817-732-1040."

The woman responds, "8..1..7..7..4..2.."

"Cancel." My dad doesn't like the machine woman. She never gets the numbers right,

and her voice reminds him of his old girlfriend.

"The number is canceled," she replies. "Go ahead."

"8...1...7" My dad doesn't like giving orders at such a slow pace, but he sucks it up.

"8..1..7...Continue"

"7..3..2..1..0..4..0"

"7..3..2..2.."

"No, no"

"1..0.."

"No! Cancel! Cancel Damn it."

My dad's attempt to show off his gadget fails yet again. I time this dialogue between my dad and the electric car woman on my watch. In my head, I ask the car lady, "Dial number 9..1..1." The car lady must have heard my request. The machine finally dials the correct ten numbers, and my dad drives me to the airport so I can leave for college. The big question is not what Billie or Mary would do, but what will I do?