Exposing The Things That Teenagers of My Day Hated About Their Parents
"Son, for stealing my car, you are grounded!"
A very wise man once said,
“There are only two forces in life that a man cannot control: Taxes and teenagers.” Somehow I agree with him, but as a note of clarification, my daughter was a normal teenage girl. She giggled, talked too much on the phone, changed fashion fad’s like a tree full of chameleons, dated, broke-up, fought with friends, and seemingly overnight, she was a young woman.
And in her somewhat “stormy” teenage years, not once did I or her mother, have to go to our local jail and bail her out for some crime she had committed, or hire an attorney to defend her in a major criminal case. I am way too guilty of not thanking her for being a normal girl.
"No more gambling with your friends!"
"I'm 13 and can do what I please, dad!"
Trust in teens is everything
One reason that I would love to take credit for my daughter doing as right as a parent can expect was the fact that I trusted her. The only rule I gave her was: Never tell me a lie. About anything. If you will simply tell me the truth no matter how bad the situation seems, in the long run, things will work better for you.
But some parents had trust-issues and couldn’t bring themselves to trust her teens no matter how good and well-behaved they were. For these teens, I can fully-relate. I know the feeling from my teen years of always “walking on glass,” for fear that my dad would pounce on me for some innocent mistake and seize my allotted weekend freedom.
And that too, happened a few times when his stringent rules were more than I could manage. I confess. I would just say, “To heck with this concentration camp. I am going to the movies with my friends.” There was, of course, a big verbal confrontation before I left—most of the time in front of my friends to shame me into buckling like a drunkard’s knees, but I never fought-back. I just said that I was only going to see a show at our local drive-in.
"I wish my parents would just grow up!"
"My" teenage years were comparable to the film, "The Great Escape"
Upon my return, my dad who worked hard six-days of each week, no matter how tired he was, would be sitting-up waiting for me to get home. Then as every time I acted like an adult, there was the inevitable stern look and sharp-toned verbal assault on me because I had come home at 11 p.m. I had to explain play-by-play, to the minute, where we were from 7:30 p.m. (when the film started) until 10:40 p.m. (when the film ended).
I tell you, “This got old quick.” Then I would either be “grounded,” for two weeks—although I had not went anywhere else but straight home, dad’s logic was I wasn’t home quick enough. Or my car privileges were revoked until he thought I could be trusted. But on this particular time I went with my buddies to the drive-in, I rode with my best friend in the world, Steve Sullins, Hamilton, who is still living here and like me, unable to work.
At this time in my life, I thought many times how rough I had it living with my parents. I couldn’t see anyone’s problems but mine. That was until I got my hands on a magazine of the modern generation. A publication that published insightful stories about music, singers, movies that I liked as well as publishing stories about people who were laboring to make my world more-peaceful. People such as brothers, John and Bobby Kennedy, John Lennon, and many more, but as much good as they tried to spread, they only met with persecution from the masses of older people, my dad included. So I just had to keep a grip on reality and walk lightly for the next few years.
"You just don't get me."
This mod-generation-based magazine printed a story of a cross-section of teens, my age or a year older, who confessed what they hated about their parents. Of course they didn’t use their real names for fear of severe punishment from their parents. The magazine had somehow, and with some magical-negotiations, convinced the teens that by confessing their hate about things their parents did . . .they, the heavy-laden teens, would suddenly feel better about themselves and life around them.
The following is just a small compiling of . . .
“What Teenagers of My Generation Hated About Their Parents”
It's Ludacris how some teens are treated by their parents
"Gahhh, ma! You are so not cool!"
"Talk to me. Not your text friends."
- Electronically-eavesdropping on teenagers’ phone calls via secret wiretaps.
- Planting electronic-“bugs” in their teenagers’ rooms in hopes to find them in cahoots with people of a bad influence.
- Following, or “Tailing” the teenagers when they left home with friends or in the family car or a car of their own to find proof of youthful transgressions the parents could use against them when their punishment was dished-out.
- Paying adults (whom the teenagers did not know) to “watch” what the teens did while out and out and report back to the parents.
- Demanding the teenagers’ friends come inside the parents’ homes, sit and discuss what they were going to do (in detail) that night and the parents “acting” like they were cool and understanding.
- Embarrassing the teenagers in front of their friends so their friends would go home. This was accomplished by turning the outside light on the house on and off several times. It would do what it was supposed to do: Embarrass the young people whose friends laughed at first, then felt pity for the teenage prisoners in their own homes. (Note: this one happened to me occasionally. Kenneth)
- Telling the teenagers’ friends, the ones who did pay respect to the parents to ask them if their son or daughter could go get some dinner, “Afraid not. He has chores to do. Maybe sometime later,” was what my dad would say to any of my friends who would ask him if I could go get a burger with them. My mom suffered a lot of years to see her husband act as if he were working for The Third Reich and I was of a Jewish bloodline. (Note: one time this happened to me at 7:30 p.m., night time. I asked my dad when my friends he humiliated, had left, “What chores do I have to do?” “Don’t give me any back talk, or you will not see town for months,” he would bark and order me inside the house. And me 18 years old and had signed-up for the Draft. Ludacris, was the only thing I could think.)
- Belittling or criticizing the teenagers’ choice of music. Sure it wasn’t their parents’ music. It was their music. And even if the songs did not instigate rioting, killing cops or taking drugs, they were still way below the parents’ standards. I know this too from experience.
- Forcing the teenager to call the parents at strategic times when they “were” allowed to have a glimpse of a social life, to tell the parents where they were and what they were doing. Yes, this happened to me also.
- If the teens were at home, and a friend were to call them, the mom or dad saying to the teen’s friend, “They are busy right now. I will tell them that you called.” This was courteous, but nothing but a lie. Many times the teens were sitting in the living room watching television or in their room listening to “wild” music.
- Answering for the teenager who another friend had asked them to go somewhere with them. Dad: “I do not think ‘Charles,’ can join you. He and I are going camping on that night.” After the teen’s friend leaves, the son would look at his dad stunned and say, “You hate camping, dad.” Then get more punishment for being rebellious.
- One of the teenagers’ parents, mostly their dad, inviting himself to go with the son and his buddies to see a movie. Yes, you are seeing a true atrocity enacted by a dad. Mine. To this day, I have yet to understand why he did this on a certain summer night when me and my friends, James and Glenn Childers, two of three brothers who lived near us, planned to see the debut of “The Love Bug,” and when my dad got into the front seat and I went to pick-up my friends, the look of “What the . . .” was written all-over their faces. And yes, I heard an earful the next week. My mother was also ashamed of his act. But I knew if I asked my dad in a discrete manner why he did this, I would get punished for being insolent.