The fact that I have a blog entitled Just Inappropriate is pretty indicative of my openness about my personal life. I can only hope that my kids are as open and honest about everything as I was/am. My poor parents probably got a lot more than they wanted to hear.
Mom: Hey, 15 year old Mary. What are you and your boyfriend going to do tonight?
Mary: Probably go to church. I really wish we were going to have sex in a field, though. Damn you and your moral-instilling parenting love.
Mom: Good morning, 16 year old Mary. Where's your friend Kendal, is she still asleep?
Mary: Yes, but we snuck out of the window last night and talked to boys in the driveway.
Dad: How was your day?
Mary: There's a girl that says she's going to punch me, so I've been crying in the bathroom a lot.
Dad: Well, stand up. Let me show you how to punch her back. She may start the fight but you'll finish it.
Mom and Dad: We think you don't have a boyfriend because the boys are just intimidated by you because you're so pretty.
Mary: I don't have a boyfriend because I listen to show tunes and don't wear a supportive bra.
Mom: Your teacher, Mrs. Licthenhitler just called and said you skipped class today.
Mary: SHE JUST HATES ME BECAUSE I'M PRETTIER THAN HER! (sob sob sob sob cry)..................(sob sob sob).......................sniffle sniffle..... Okay. I went to the bagel shop with Greer.
I can remember on more than one occasion being super pissed off at my mom. She was SO SELFISH FOR MAKING ME GO TO SCHOOL WHEN I TOLD HER I WAS SICK. I would get out of her car and SLAM the door shut without a backwards look to her neglectful face.
2 hours later I have snuck out of class and gone to the payphone.
Mary: Mom. Hey. Sorry I slammed the door shut and didn't say bye. I'm not really sick, you were right. Are you okay?
I think the one and only time my parents didn't love me was on Oscar night, 1998.
I was 14 years old and has just gotten back from a free ski trip with one of my many fortunate friends, Kendal.
I turned on the water in the bathroom to wash my face, when I realized my face wash was still in my suitcase from my ski trip. I ran to my room to retrieve it when my phone rang. My land line.God I'm old.
Anyway, I laid down on my bed and talked to Maggie about N Sync, Mavi jeans, and Tyler Scheller until we had nothing else to gab about. I honestly can't say how long that was because back then, teenager talk just flew by. It was probably somewhere between 1 and 3 hours.
After this socialization, I wanted some more attention. I decided to get on Facebook. I mean, America Online. Maybe I would have mail from someone or maybe someone would want to chat this up? I waited for the squealing of the internet modem and once I was connected I commenced stalking and typing for upwards of perhaps 1 hour.
My mom called out to me to come watch the Oscars in the living room with the family. I turned off the computer (GOODBYE) (that was in the super robotic American Online man voice). I swung my legs around and put them down on the floor to walk to the living room.
SQUISH SQUISH SQUISH.
That's weird. Why is there water under the carpet? Did I spill something?
I ran to the bathroom, which was three rooms away. THREE ROOMS. Every step I made made a new puddle in the carpet.
I don't have to tell my parents. I'll just clean it up with these towels.
I open the drawer and the towels were floating in water. I had left the bathroom faucet running with the plug down for 4 hours. Water had flowed from the sink to the bathroom floor, through the hallway, flooded my bedroom and the computer room. I ran to my parent's bathroom to get towels and as I came back I saw my Mother standing at the end of the hallway.
Mary: It's okay, Mom. We don't have to tell Dad. Let's just clean it up.
My mother didn't say a word. She went back out to living room where the family was laughing, high-fiving, and just enjoying their wholesome evening of movie awards. She gave my father a look. The look said:
You're going to need to take the next two days off to get a crew out here to clean this up. You're going to need to replace the carpet in three bedrooms. You're going to have to go buy a new computer desk. You're going to try to salvage the carpet pad, but dejectedly give up and take another day off work to wait for the carpet people again. Your daughter is crying in the fetal position in her bedroom. You must still love her.
I'm not sure what the total damage was to the house, or to my parents love for me.
Mom and Dad, I hope I made up for it by not doing drugs and staying off the pole.