That Difficult Age
I know what you guys are thinking: toddlers. The terrible twos. Potty training. Defiance. Putting scrambled eggs in the VCR. Oh, I wish your troubles disappear after that, but I'd be blowing smoke. Eighteen, that magical age when our kids are adults but have year to grow a brain and think that we don't have one. They slip into this psychotic delusion that they can do what they want because of their adult status: smoke, stay out late on school nights, go off on road trips, neglect their chores, etc. What's a parent to do beside pull out their hair and contemplate shoving them into the nearest recycling bin? Got just the answer for them. The old adage our parents used on us that we, the age of permissive, democratic parenting, cringe at. To get to the point, as long as their being sheltered, fed and clothed, they have to follow your rules. If they balk, let them go to school on roller skates to school. Better yet, let them pay for their own education. Throw their dirty laundry on the front porch so they can wash them in the nearest river when they're finished loitering for hours at the nearest Starbucks. Make them pay for room and board or nail an eviction notice on their bedroom door. GET A FRIGGING JOB AND MOVE OUT! The real world is chock full of rules. That's reality. Whether it's the workplace, relationships, or laws, we're all governed by rules, fair or not. The freedom of adulthood comes with a price. That said, you gotta tell your newly psychotic 10 year olds that if it's too hot, get the hell out of the kitchen. See how that works, but don't let them know who told you or I'll haunt you forever. Really.