by Ezana "E-Z" Teshager

Despite what everybody and their gossipy ij asaTabis tattled, my family was really, I mean reaaallly, not as cut-throat conservative as they made us out to be. Admittedly, there have been sparse… errr… okay, perhaps sundry incidents when their conservative convictions might have gone over the top and then some. But to date, if my selective memory serves me well, the last time we were dubbed fanatic traditionalists (or was traditionalist fanatics?) was when my parents, on my behalf, irrevocably rejected Fitawrari Merid's daughter's hand in marriage because of her "refusal" (failure) to present an official certification of her virginity from our family gynecologist. I mean, it wasn't like we asked him to stamp a signature on the darn tissue. Either way, they were outraged when my parents adamantly pronounced, "We'd prefer he die a wonde laTE," and the families have only shared glmCHas since.

But that was then, when they were still tripping to the rhythm of the Progress.  Now our ship has taken a completely foreign course. I'm really not certain where the inspiration to convert fell from. It might well have been one too many glmCHa wounds on their shriveled ego. Yet, all of a sudden! in one collosal leap! they were baptized Progressives. Yep, from being pegged preservative conservatives (or was it conservative preservatives?) to progressives overnight!

Well, almost overnight.

I was soon to discover, upon my return home for winter break after my third semester at the Performing Arts Institute, that even the course of Progressivism might go a liiittle overboard. AbayE insisted I transfer to a performing arts school after I confessed that I secretly dreamt of being a pop star. He was too thrilled for comfort, actually, since it was in tune with the family's Progressive movement. Everybody in the new and reformed family was proud to see me well on my way to stardom. On top of that, in the spirit of forgiveness and reform, we jointly succeeded in gagging on the clamor of glmCHas that reverberated between us and the Merids. Finally. Everything was merry and fuzzy.

So what better opportunity, I imagined, to announce my own mini-reversion (after the Conversion) than at my welcome home dinner?

"EmayE," I began buttering her up, "I don't think I applauded you for thoughtfully sacking the igr asaTabi. I heard she flew out of here as though released from prison bars."

"Well, E-Z, it's not like we were paying her or anything. She's a pedicurist now. I mean, slave labor is just plain wrong! And illegal too, I think, in some states. Or was it most states? Whatever, it should be illegal in all states, I think. In fact, you should dedicate a song on your first album for slaves. It's only…"

"Just one song though," AbayE interrupted, "don't get overly-Free-Willy-preachy on us. Remember, consciousness is not what makes a pop star. A rock star, maybe. Remember what and who you are. Or what you have developed into, rather. Gosh, how did we waste your childhood?"

I was slightly perturbed by the fact that my father claimed to be well-versed in the roles of rock stars and pop stars, not to mention Free Willy.

"Ah, freedom is definitely a theme that I intend to… ehem …. What was the word… actualize? Self-actualize? Something like that."

They were unmoved. We continued to silently meQortem our bones.

"Well," my mother asserted, "we're all free, long live the Conversion. You so should've recognized that by now. It's not something that takes time or anything, you know. You either are or you aren't. And once you are free, you can only become more free."

I was lost.

"Yes, yes," my father mumbled as he simultaneously memTeted his qlTm, "it's like what that Nobel Prize Economist iterated - Development is Freedom. And freedom fuels development. That's why we're proud of you, son. You are developing into such a popular agent for Popularism.  A man of the people, who has set an example by overcoming the shackles of traditionalism."

I was boiling with anxiety

"Did we ever tell you how proud you make us?"

Ahhh! I couldn't take it anymore, "EmayE, Dad, I wanna go to Medical School!"

"What!", they exclaimed in unison. The crystal [wine glasses?  Chandelier?] shrieked.

"I… I… I just can't bear this burden of having to be a pop star. Look at me! There is nothing about me that resonates popular or stardom!"

"Don't be ridiculous," AbayE interrupted, "you have always wanted to be a pop star. Okay, maybe not always. But at least since the Conversion. Helllooooo???"

"Erre wedya belew," EmayE  interjected, "I distinctly remember, even before the actual Conversion, you pointing your itty bitty fingers at that Thriller poster that everybody and their Mama owned when we foolishly chose to get you the Periodic Table. The foolishness, the foolishness! Remind me, how did we waste your childhood?"

I was dumfounded. "Wha… What are you talking about? How could you have possibly expected me to know what I want out of life? Surely after the Conversion the only path you exposed me to was Pop, Pop, Pop!"

Their faces were blank, nay, distorted in disbelief.

I was recharged with a little more confidence. "Well, I'm dropping that dream like a bad habit. Heck, I already dropped it forever ago. I'm expecting an interview with Yale Medical in the Spring."

The silence was crippling. And then, again, all of a sudden!

"Wait, Yale!", he exclaimed, "How about acting? They have a renowned acting faculty. In fact, transfer to the acting school. You always wanted to be an actor and a pop star. Even J-Lo does both."

Okay, J-Lo? Now this was unsettling.

"Well?? You're not even going to consider it?" My mother whimpered. "After all we've been through, casting out the demons of our past. Whatever happened to “Out with the old and in with the profits?"

"Medicine brings profits," I affirmed.

"Ya ya, but it's just not… the trendy way," she wailed.

My father affirmed, "Aye ye'zarE lij… when we agree with them they disagree with us. Ungrateful, ill-minded."

"Oh, c'mon…. it's not as traumatic as you make it sound".

"You just don't understand how hard it is for us, son," AbayE's voice cracked. "I mean, what now?  Next thing, you'll tell us you're not gay anymore."

"Ehem," I cleared my throat, "another thing…."