Friday, Feb. 18, 2005 | ||
Bad Links? | Stupid little rules
The best way to start this story is not at the beginning or at the end, but somewhere in the middle. Its only logical. For you see, the storys not quite finished yet, and to tell you the truth, theres no way to know exactly how its gonna turn out. Lifes like that, too. Aint no telling how its gonna turn out, either. Its a bit unusual to start a story in the middle I know, but then again, so am I. There once was a teenage boy who had a problem. He lived in a small house just north of the airport with his two brothers, a sister, two dogs, a green parakeet that liked to eat hushpuppies off his dads head, and one very annoying twin brother. His mom lived there too. As moms of the day did, she cooked all the meals, did all the laundry, complained about the clothes not being turned right side out and about stuff left in pockets. She cleaned the house, complained about the kids not picking up their junk off the floor, and when she wasnt cooking, cleaning or washing, shed shuttle everyone from one after school event to another so they could have an active social life. Something she never complained about not having. She knew how important it was for them to have one. The teenager also had a dad. His dad lived in the small house. The teenage boy didnt see much of him during the week. Like most dads of the day, he went to work before the sun rose and returned long after it set. It was his job to pay for everything, but he didnt consider it a burden, and even though they barely got by, the dad knew that they were rich. They had each other. The only day the teenager was guaranteed to spend time with his dad was on Sunday when they all packed into the dark green station wagon with faux wood panels and made their way to Sunday school for the hour-long, boring sermon given by Reverend Jim somebody in a hot church cooled by an antiquated air-conditioning system that made a weird buzzing sound and five ceiling fans that wobbled to the music of a choir filled with out-of-tune white-haired old people wearing purple choir robes that were five inches too short. Attending church on Sunday was something the family of seven did every week. It was something that the teenagers dad made them do. For you see, it was one of his rules, and that was the teenagers problem. His dad had rules. The teenagers dad had rules about what time they had to come in at night. Rules about how many people they could drive around in their cars. Rules about whom they could associate with and whom they could not. He even had rules about food. The mom and antiquated dad made sure the teenager had three balanced meals a day, made sure he stayed away from junk food and got plenty of exercise cutting the grass and doing yard work. Yard work every Saturday was another of the dads incessant rules. There were rules about how long the teenager could talk on the phone or how long he could watch television during school nights. He had rules that made him constantly say sir or demanding above all else that he be honest and never ever tell a lie. The antiquated dad seem to go out of his way to make the teenagers life miserable and be a thorn in his side with all of his stupid rules. It was only after three speeding tickets, two car crashes, countless times being on restriction and grounded for various events that were never his fault that the teenager finally made it to college and away from his dad and the oppressiveness of his thumb. While off at school, his antiquated father reduced all of his rules to just two that he wished his son to follow. Stay out of trouble and graduate in four years. The teenager soon found that they were the hardest rules he had to follow. The teenager and his brothers are all married now with children. They each have a house, cars, bills, and yes; two of the brothers even have teenagers. Some of the wives stay home to cook, clean, do laundry and raise the kids, as moms of the day do. Other of the wives go to work and have a career, then come home to cook, clean, do laundry and raise the kids, as moms of the day do. One other thing all of those teenage boys from long ago now do: Impose rules on their teenagers, lots and lots of rules. The same rules that they hated to follow, the same rules they all swore a thousand times were stupid, the same rules they said if they ever had kids they would never make them follow; these are the rules they now give their kids. Then next time I see my dad, Im gonna thank him for all of his stupid little rules.
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