Living with a teenage hooligan that is prone to lying has helped me put things into perspective regarding my own tender years growing up. It is becoming increasingly obvious to me that there was no possible way I ever really got away with anything.
You didn't realize it when you were a teenager yourself, but your parents were so far away from believing anything you ever told them that you might as well have had some fun with it. A better, if not more feasible story to have told them could have been about you using your radioactive born powers to patrol the streets in the name of justice until the evil Professor UnderageParty blasted you with a vodka beam and imprisoned you in his impregnable fortress where he forced you to dance and makeout with hot chicks until the morning sun rendered his powers useless against you.
The only reason parents shake their heads, pretend to swallow your load of crap and send you to your room with no breakfast is because they don't want you to think you're stupid. You see, the developmental stage of a teenager is a fragile process that requires large doses of understanding, sensitivity and tiptoeing. One false move could send years of growth out the window along with your runaway kid. For a parent to call their child on their pathetic excuses for what they are - huge piles of shit - would be to imply that the child is a fucking asshole for thinking anyone with opposable thumbs would buy any of it. That, according to new-age dickheads who probably don't have kids of their own, would be "negative".
But that doesn't necessarily mean that your child is dumb. Some of you clearly aren't, and you were all teens at one time. No, there is another factor involved in your teen's lack anything resembling intelligence.
Sadly, in order to provide my brother with the lifestyle he is accustomed to, I spend more time at work than I am able to spend with him. This means that a large portion of the people he spends the majority of his time with are mostly other teens. It takes a period of time before he readjusts to speaking with someone who possesses the capacity for abstract thought, philosophical reasoning, and common sense. Unfortunately one doesn't have the luxury of that kind of time when immidiately met with the challenge of saving one's own ass from getting totally busted.
But I am not a parent. I am an older brother. And as television has shown us over the years, older brothers are expected to act in ways that most parents aren't capable of.
That means if I want him to know that he's full of shit, it is my genetic right to do so. When I come home and my Christmas vodka is frozen, I am able to point out that only a complete dumbass would replace alcohol with water after stupidly drinking it. I am also able to express my disappointment that I wasn't able to trust him not to drink it by punching him in the arm. When my landlord shows up at my door at 9:00am on a Saturday morning to tell me that I'm one more broken glass bottle thrown from my window away from being evicted, I am able, nay, required to put his stupid ass in a sleeper hold until he promises to be good.
Thank you.
You didn't realize it when you were a teenager yourself, but your parents were so far away from believing anything you ever told them that you might as well have had some fun with it. A better, if not more feasible story to have told them could have been about you using your radioactive born powers to patrol the streets in the name of justice until the evil Professor UnderageParty blasted you with a vodka beam and imprisoned you in his impregnable fortress where he forced you to dance and makeout with hot chicks until the morning sun rendered his powers useless against you.
The only reason parents shake their heads, pretend to swallow your load of crap and send you to your room with no breakfast is because they don't want you to think you're stupid. You see, the developmental stage of a teenager is a fragile process that requires large doses of understanding, sensitivity and tiptoeing. One false move could send years of growth out the window along with your runaway kid. For a parent to call their child on their pathetic excuses for what they are - huge piles of shit - would be to imply that the child is a fucking asshole for thinking anyone with opposable thumbs would buy any of it. That, according to new-age dickheads who probably don't have kids of their own, would be "negative".
But that doesn't necessarily mean that your child is dumb. Some of you clearly aren't, and you were all teens at one time. No, there is another factor involved in your teen's lack anything resembling intelligence.
Sadly, in order to provide my brother with the lifestyle he is accustomed to, I spend more time at work than I am able to spend with him. This means that a large portion of the people he spends the majority of his time with are mostly other teens. It takes a period of time before he readjusts to speaking with someone who possesses the capacity for abstract thought, philosophical reasoning, and common sense. Unfortunately one doesn't have the luxury of that kind of time when immidiately met with the challenge of saving one's own ass from getting totally busted.
But I am not a parent. I am an older brother. And as television has shown us over the years, older brothers are expected to act in ways that most parents aren't capable of.
That means if I want him to know that he's full of shit, it is my genetic right to do so. When I come home and my Christmas vodka is frozen, I am able to point out that only a complete dumbass would replace alcohol with water after stupidly drinking it. I am also able to express my disappointment that I wasn't able to trust him not to drink it by punching him in the arm. When my landlord shows up at my door at 9:00am on a Saturday morning to tell me that I'm one more broken glass bottle thrown from my window away from being evicted, I am able, nay, required to put his stupid ass in a sleeper hold until he promises to be good.
Thank you.
VIEW 25 of 70 COMMENTS
skryche:
Ha! Yes, I had a good time Friday night. I don't even resent the lack of piggyback rides.
siv:
Your humor points make any potential guilt points reverse-telescope into oblivion, like the opposite of those little dwarfy bath sponge-pill thingies. This would be more fun if you would update, Mr. T.