• Join The Fed
• Advertise with The Fed

• About Us
• Contact

In This Issue

• Blind Guy Shows Us the Way
• Columbia's Cruel Iron Maiden
• Letter From the Editor
• Daddy Was a Shrink; Momma Was a Street Corner.
• Columbia Socialist Pronounces ‘Bourgeois’ The Right Way
• Holiday Thoughts for the Dysfunctional
• Dear Alma Mater
• Columbia Vs. Colombia
• WHAT TYPE OF DYSFUNCTIONAL IS YOUR FAMILY?
• Uncut Tales of Dysfunctional Literacy
• White Boys Need Money
• I Am So Not a Man
• Thanks, My Ass: Mohican Joe speaks out
• Press 'M' for Mezzanine... if Ye be Brave Enough
• Your Daily (read: Monthly) Horoscope
• Wacky Fun Whitey: Evil Just Like your Mom
• Newsbriefs
• THEY Watch
• The Staff of 17.4

Katie O'Shea

People always ask me, "What was it like to grow up with a psychiatrist for a dad?" After I tell them about the bust of Freud in our living room, the family therapy once a week (after Cosby Show reruns) and the fetishization of Woody Allen movies, I usually say, it's not so bad.

You get used to talking about your feelings at the dinner table. Addressing the Electra complex at an early age made me able to love my mother, instead of wanting to hack her head off so I could do it with dad on the analyst's couch. Early discussions of Freudian theories of child sexuality helped me realize that instead of trying to marry my father, I should just spend the rest of my life trying to find a man like my daddy.

Also, growing up in a house with a psychiatrist made me a lot more open to new ideas. Being able to discuss and understand others' feelings and how people interact made me less likely to jump to conclusions in any situations. This does not include situations in which the person you're dealing with is obviously manic-depressive, suffering from some type of bipolar disorder, paranoid, schizophrenic, a paranoid schizophrenic, sociopathic, psychopathic or suffering from Seasonal Affective Disorder or allergies. These are all people whose identifiable personality disorders disqualify them from being treated as normal human beings, because after all, they're crazy.

One would think that a psychiatrist-father would ostracize his daughter's male friends. My father, however, was very accepting of the variety of men in my life and often informed me that they all wanted to have sex with me. The removal of the typical taboo of adolescent sexuality made me feel very comfortable bringing home my wanting-to-fornicate male friends and boyfriends. For reasons I can't explain, most of my male friends had a deep-seated fear of my father, but I think that's just because they were intimidated by his understanding and acceptance of them. My boyfriends thought it was weird that I could have sex with my parents in the house, without having to hide from them by being silent or throwing condoms out the window. In fact everyone in the house was encouraged to embrace his or her sexuality. My mom and I got matching diaphragms when I became sexually active.

People think that psychiatrists are judgmental, but they're not–they just know what you're thinking and that you're thinking it because you have repressed sexual issues. We all do, so don't feel alone. I think if growing up in a shrunk household did anything it all, it was make me more normal than most of the people I know. I mean I don't have issues with my dad, I am comfortable with my body and able to have healthy sexual relationships and I feel that I can understand people better because of my training, er, upbringing. The fact is, I know that you are crazy and I know that you want to have sex with me. That's just the way your mind works.