Random Memory # 2: A Test Subject for Freud

I am like my father in so many ways. My mother said that had I been a boy, I would have been his exact carbon-copy. Unfortunately for my mother, that was to her disadvantage. I'll explain later. One of the many things that my father and I share in common is our extremely low tolerance for pain. Let me share a random memory.

I was about 4 and my father came home from a basketball game with a huge scrape on his knee (what else can you get by having 10 guys fight over one stupid ball?). Upon seeing this, my mother went into wife-mode, chastising my father for not being careful while preparing the disinfectant and some cotton balls. I, on the other hand, fascinated by how a grown person can get wounded like a scrawny kid in the playground, was examining my father's wound. Apparently, kids have high tolerance for stuff that would otherwise induce a cringe from an adult. When my mother was done with her preparations and was about to disinfect my father's knees, she relegated me to a corner from where my vantage point was limited to a view of my mother's back. The moment the alcohol-soaked cotton made contact with my father's wound, he gave out a loud howl. It brought about a panic in me and prompted me to do what I thought was called for on such occasions.

I bit my mother.

I bit her so hard that this time it was her who had to give out a loud shriek. She abandoned the idea of cleaning the wound for fear that I would bite her again until I drew blood.

Far be it for me to rationalize my actions from two decades ago, I can only say that some instinct kicked in when I thought that my father was being killed and I had to do what I had to do. Freud would probably be amused and say that I have a classic case of an Electra Complex. Maybe so. Based on my own observations, I noticed that most first-born girls have this kind of attachment to their fathers. And I really am a carbon-copy of my dad. Not only do we have similar physical features but we also share an inclination to impulsive shopping and, more importantly, a loathing for housework. Like I said, unfortunately for my mother.