I couldn't help myself. Even as I was biting away, I would kid myself this was the last time. But no sooner than I was finished, my mouth was gnawing away at the next finger even when there was not enough nail to bite. Dad would scold and threaten me, telling me he was going to cover my fingers in chile. Being of Mexican descendent, that was never really that scary to me.
My nails got a break in 8th grade when I got braces. Those things created a buffer between my teeth and my nails that made it impossible to chew. For the first time ever I could wear nail polish and it would look nice. After a while not biting my nails seemed normal, even after the braces came off.
I thought I had overcome and for the next few years my nails were safe. Somewhere in my freshman or sophmore year, the stress of being a teenager got to me and my nails fell victim to my angst. Once again I became a voracious nail-biter. Once again, I drove my dad crazy, but no amount of nagging and badgering on his part could make me stop. Until the first day I ever really spoke back to him.
It was the summer of May 1978. We were traveling in Europe on our way back home from Iran. I'm pretty sure it was in Greece, when my dad asked in exasperation as I was chewing on a nail, when I was going to stop. I pulled my finger from my mouth and equally as frustrated said, "When I feel like it".
Even as I said the words, I couldn't believe it. Inwardly I winced, waiting for another scolding, but my dad must have been as surprised as I was because while he looked taken aback, he didn't say a word. And just like that, I stopped biting my nails.
Truth be told, I never really have given up the habit. For years, my nails were mainly long, but every two or three months, I would bite them all down and then let them grow again. For example, in college I tended to bite them at the end of every quarter. Once I confessed to a friend in a library about what I did, asking him if he thought it was weird. He was silent for a moment and then told me that I must have sharp teeth.
Recently, I've been biting them more than I used to. Not all down to the quick like I used to, but ever since chemo, my nails haven't been as strong as they used to be. As they grow, I can feel the weakness in them and before I know it, I am taken advantage of that weakness and ripping into them.
Funny thing is my dad still notices. When I met him for lunch a month ago, he commented on the fact that I had bitten my nail during lunch. Somethings never change.
No comments:
Post a Comment