Yesterday’s entry got a little bit off the track toward the end so let me be clear that I don’t *ever* beat up my octogenarian mother! Or she me, for that matter. I’m sure she would like to sometimes. Because I am, and always have been, rather a rebel. At least when it comes to parental control. Most people think I’m pretty much a sheep-like rule follower. And of course, I am. If a nice policeman stops me (it’s happened *once* in my life), I’m all “Yes, officer, no officer, here’s my driver’s license and car registration.” Er, handing him an expired one that was still hanging around. When my boss I/M’s me “Yo”, I just about fall out of my seat typing “Good morning dear sir, what can I do for you today? Shine your shoes?” Okay, okay, really I stop at “Good morning”.

But sheesh, some of the rules that parents have. Like when I was in first grade and The Commander actually tried to make me wear *rubbers* to school. I mean these rubber things that slipped over your shoes. I wonder if they even make those darn things any more. I bet every kid that ever had to wear them did what I did, which was put them on long enough to get out the door and then take them off and hide them under the steps. (Yes mom, I know, shoes were expensive.)

And then there was adolescence. I’m talking junior high and high school here. Our fights were not so much about clothing (with notable exceptions) and I didn’t have much to do with drugs, sex, or alcohol until later. Actually, I wasn’t close enough to the inner social circle in Soo Ste. Siberia to get invited to those kind of events. And I like my ‘hattan but I have never been much involved with drugs anyway. You’d be lucky to find aspirin at my house. I don’t need it so why would anybody else? Our big arguments were about curfew. I could understand why my parents wouldn’t want me driving around with a *boy* until 3:30 in the morning. Why it wasn’t okay to watch TV at the Piedmont cabin until midnight or 1 AM, I never quite understood. I had to walk maybe 100 yards to get home and the biggest danger was running into a skunk. Although at the time, I was more scared of werewolves and vampires than a small black and white aminal. Go figger.

Long before I had my own kids, I swore that I would never fight with them about clothing (piercings, tattoos, etc.) or music. I didn’t get a whole lot of crap from my parents about that stuff but it always seemed like that was what everybody was always fighting about in those days. Curfew? Hmmm… Harder thing. But then. Voila!!! Cellular telephones arrive on the scene and become ubiquitous. When I was a kid and had a breakdown on the road or was in a vee-hickle with a drunk driver or whatever, I couldn’t just call my parents. And they had no way of calling me to ask where the heck I was. Cell phones are not perfect but they do inject a bit of peace of mind into the whole equation.

Whaddya think? Red, white, or black? And, if you dare, what issues did you have with your parents? What issues do you or did you have with your children? Or how do you expect to deal with your babies as they are growing up? No wrong answers here. And… Red, white, or black?

This entry was posted on Monday, September 8th, 2008 at 6:56 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.