It is of my firm belief that the bestest of ideas come when you are most bored. Balls. I don’t believe that. But I am bored and despite my self-imposed hiatus, I write because I am bored. I need to keep sane, stay sane and tell myself that Carly Rae Jespen is wrong, because no one called me (maybe?).
I wrote a few months ago about the shiz that goes down when you stay home alone, this might seem a replication of the same, but I’ll try to throw in something new okay.
If at all I were to set out a target audience, I’d say parents and children above the age of 16-17. Children, why if you may ask me? Yes, I’m an adult too, but so are parents and the only way I could distinguish between both these groups of adults as opposed to my usual older-adults and younger-adults reference, is to make the parent-child one. That was a completely irrelevant sentence, as this, but I thought it sounded nice noh?
So, in case the title wasn’t obvious to you, I would be ‘exploring’ (what is up with my language? I don’t know!) parenting and well families. Note, I use ‘families’ as there is no word that explains the ‘role of the child’. Child-ing. Children-ing. Haw.
Recently, I’ve been having discussions with friends, acquaintances whom I wouldn’t want to be friends, random strangers, parents, relatives on this substance abuse business. I conveniently use ‘substance abuse’ as it happily incorporates drinking, smoking, recreational drugs and whatever else people do these days that I am yet to toy with.
I suppose it’s the overarching influence of being around like minded people or friends with like minded parents, I cannot say which (say which = sandwich = bahaha), but most of my friends who ‘abuse substances’, belong to families who are aware of their child’s ‘social habits’. How my flowery decorations? Ten points!
See, I would publicly state this: I do not drink. I used to. Newbie alcoholic (read 2013) who got wasted once or twice (who doesn’t noh!) and then stopped (or reduced, considerably) as soon (read 2013). Apparently, before I began drinking, I had friends who were worried as to how-hyper I could get with alcohol in the system! 😀 Of the many reasons I stopped drinking, I narrowed it down to three, for the benefit of the you, my dear reader:
a) My father was an alcoholic. Shit scares me that the addiction maybe genetic!
b) One cannot ‘drink and drive’.
c) It’s much funner to laugh at the drunken souls. Buhaha. Actually no, I never wanted drink in the first place. Mostly because of a)
However, I do abuse other substances. Tsk. Diplomatically stated, another brownie point for yours truly.
So, my Mother knows of my ‘social habits’. She knows what my Friday nights consist of (with regard to substances only, of course!). She doesn’t approve, of course not! No Mother would noh. However, since we were kids, we were granted autonomy (trust me, it’s not as cool as it sounds) to make our own decisions. I suppose, it explains why messed up I am today. HAHA. But no, at least I know that I am in this state because of my own decisions and la-di-da, which means, that I would know what to do to make it right, yes? Well no, not yet at least, but you get my point.
Now, let me jump in to my problem. It is with those children (anyone above 15-16, unmarried) whose parent(s) are unaware of their ‘social habits’. The said conversations with different parties generated uhm interesting statements (from the children) of the following nature:
a) “They don’t need to know.”
b) “We are old enough to make our own decisions.”
*drum roll please*
c) (addressing me) “Your mother must be hurting, knowing your habits. Even though she doesn’t tell you and all.”
Why H-E-L-L-O, Dorothy in ruby ballerinas! Did you drop your halo on the way to the bar? Or I’m sure that you would’ve left your goody-two-boxers under her bed, while you both struggled to do whatever before her parents got home.
Excuse the rage, French and citations of fairy tales. I’m not really big fan of Team Hypocrite. At least not in this regard.
Also, here’s hoping that your Mommy finds a lighter tucked in your pockets when SHE does YOUR laundry. Sheesh.