It is the thing that parents everywhere fear and dread as they watch their sweet little hobbits grow up; the rebellious years. Be it the terrible twos, pre-teen choas, or the classic teenage rebellion, it is not something to look forward to
unless you happen to enjoy shouting matches that is. My own was pretty tame as far as these things go. I’ve seen people jump right off the deep end, doing all sorts of things to get “freedom” and “respect”. I don’t smoke or do drugs, I drink infrequently and not very heavily when I do despite what my constant references to alcohol might suggest, and I never did anything like drastically change my look, or get a piercing. I just got a little grouchy and argumentative, wore darker t-shirts that were second hand from the cooler best friend, and listened to some music and bands I am not proud of mum’s Prince and Milli Vanilli tapes excluded, alongside my discovery of Iron Maiden.
I seem to have avoided following in my mother’s footsteps thus far. I have yet to sneak in the morning after a night out, get caught, and claim that I have just walked the dog in order to cover my back. Smooth, mum, real smooth. On a side note, that is by far the best excuse I have heard for something like that
I can only dream of one day being that smooth.
I think the way my parents treated me,
and the fact that my mum was a total rebel was one of the main reasons why I never felt the need to rebel. They always tried to understand what I was feeling and what I wanted, along with respecting me, treating me like and adult and giving me quite a bit of freedom. Well done, mum and dad, you did parenting right! I only hope I can be just as good at it when I eventually grow up.