My daughter was great. I would have enjoyed myself much more if there hadn't been a girl behind me with the voice of a lumberjack who kept yelling things like "Go, Jackie!" and "Way to go, Jackieeeeee!!!!" By the end of the evening, I was wishing for a hearing impairment. Other than that, I had a great time.
Now, my daughter is doing her homework. She has a lot of homework. Math and language arts (that's what they call English nowadays) and social studies. It's going to be a long night for her, and yet she still refuses to follow my advice about turning off electronic devices and just doing her work. She frustrates me a great deal, and she's not officially a teenager for another month.
I don't remember being quite so . . . difficult when I was a teenager. I don't remember being moody or temperamental or cranky. I can't recall a single instance where I deliberately went against my father's or mother's instructions about homework or housework. I was a perfect teen. Diligent. Studious. Respectful. Loyal. Trustworthy.
Saint Marty was practically a Labrador retriever.
|My senior picture in high school|