This week my almost 14-year-old told me when she grows up she isn’t going to be like me. Um, back up there sister. What do you mean – you’re not going to be like me? What’s wrong with being like me?
“Well, you know mum. I’m not going to be a Goody Two Shoes,” she replied.*
“Oh I see. Being a Goody Two Shoes is not cool. I get it. It’s all about being popular right now. But if you’re not a Goody Two Shoes, then what are you? A bad arse, drug-taking, tattoo-covered, expletive-laden, disobedient rebel?”
Oh I can’t wait. My life has been so boring and drama free to date. I could really use a rebellious, test-my-patience-in-every-possible-way teenager right now. Just to spice things up a bit. Keep me on my toes. Make sure I never get any sleep. EVER.
I thought this sleepless night thing was supposed to end around the same time they grew out of nappies. I can tell you right now there is a massive error in ‘The Child Rearing Manual For Idiots’.
In fact, an entire chapter is missing. It’s the one entitled ‘How Not to Lose Your Shit After 14 Years with Next to No Sleep’. It needs to be slotted in somewhere between the chapter on ‘Why Daddy is a Bankrupt’ and ‘When it’s ok to Kill Your Mother-In-Law’.
Instead of penning ‘Go the F**k to Sleep’ Adam Mansbach would have been better placed writing ‘Stay the F**k Awake – A Parent’s Guide’.
After the events of this week it seems I will need to employ the nocturnal proficiencies of a vampire to keep this kid in my sights. I plan to hover over her bed until she turns at least 21. It’s either that or round up every hormone-crazed teenage boy in the southern hemisphere and ship them off to a deserted island.
This week not one, not two, but THREE teenage boys decided it would be a good idea to call her. Not at 10pm, not at 11pm, not even at midnight. No. After midnight. Sometime in the early hours of the morning.
In addition to their poor timing, they also thought it might be advantageous to discuss some highly, HIGHLY, inappropriate topics – none of which I can mention here, but all of which were mentioned to their parents when my expertly-honed investigative skills discovered their misdemeanour.
Anybody who has ever had the misfortune of doing me wrong knows of my much-maligned ability to find shit out. When I get tired of this journalism thing, I’m thinking I could make my fortune as a private investigator.
Needless to say, after our parental round table and several apologies later (both written and verbal) I think we are all in a much better place –teenagers and parents alike.
However, the overarching revelation I took away from ‘Episode 503 of Teenage Angst’ is how reasonable and measured the boys’ parents were upon learning of their children’s indiscretions.
Thank God for adults who want the best for their kids, who don’t make excuses for bad behaviour, who assign appropriate punishment, who are as horrified as I am that Little Johnny/Jenny has experienced a short circuit in their cerebral function.
It gives me hope the next generation might survive this age of social media saturation, intimidation and perversion.
*This whole Goody Two Shoes thing might be just a little overplayed. Admittedly my shoes were ever so slightly scuffed, but I’m running with it. Little do these kids know we all had starring roles in ‘Episode 504, 505, and 506 of Teenage Angst’. How else do I manage to stay one step ahead? Checkmate.