I come from a world of a pepperoni pizza family. The contents of this food item represent my parents’ actions and abilities that fairly well influence who I am today. They made me go through some tough and frustrating times through their lectures and strictness, but their purposes eventually became clear to me at the right age.

Now back to the pizza. The bread and crust is the one that hold all ingredients together into one piece; therefore the base is my father, the head of the family. He certainly manages the family to stay being a whole, showing me how important we are to him. On the contrary, I do have a bad relationship with him due to his constant contradicting of my actions and arguments. It was my fifteenth birthday, and I wanted to have a small celebration dinner with my friends. But it was a Tuesday, a school night. I asked permission from my mom, and she made me ask my dad for permission because he gets to decide at the end. I let out a big sigh before approaching him. He seemed to be in the good mood, so I kept a positive vibe and hoped to be lucky.

“Dad, can I go out for dinner with my friends later?”

“Why?”

“Because they wanted to celebrate my birthday with me.”

“Maybe next time.”

I was furious inside. I walked away, holding back my tears of anger. I didn’t even want to argue. He never lets me out. He never lets me be with friends. He never lets me have fun. For that, my dad is the crust, the stalest part of the pizza, and his staleness is the contradiction to the rest of the pizza; which makes me rebel and not eat the crust and not follow my father’s guidance. I slammed the door and ran to my pillow to scream in it. “Worst birthday ever”, I thought to myself. My mom gently knocked on my door and came in. She talked to me to calm me down. My mother, my best friend, is the cheese to the pizza, the glue to everything. If there’s anyone in the world who tries to understand me, it’s her. She may have gone through stages at my age, but she does the best she can for me not to go through the same struggles. She just makes things work out, like feeding twenty out of one medium pizza. She provides the lectures I need in a different approach than my dad’s.

“I know it’s your birthday hun, and I understand. I’ll talk to your dad and I’ll see if he lets us out so you can be with your friends,” my mom said. I nodded my head and wiped my tears. I took another sigh, but of relief. She continued and explained to me why my dad is the way he is. My dad disagrees with the choices I make because he’s afraid of the bad influences that my friends may make toward me. And there goes the pepperoni. The most flavored, yet unhealthiest. I enjoy my friends’ company, mostly because of the freedom I have from yelling ranting. But without realizing that my dad’s constant lectures are only for my own sake, my friends suddenly become the unhealthy part of the pepperoni. They take me away from understanding my dad, and growing some type of anger towards him.

When my mom talked to my dad and asked permission, my dad explained to me the same reasons my mom had just stated. He just didn’t want to let me go and tell himself that his only daughter is officially grown up. I ended up going to dinner with my friends at Elephant Bar, but my dad only gave me two hours. It was better than nothing I guess.

Now eating the entire pizza will mean the intake of my parents and friends’ influences combined toward me. With my dad’s strictness due to his values that is being applied to me, my mom’s empathy because she’s gone through strict parents as well, and my friends’ company to balance out my social life.