Today’s text conversation with my son is pretty darn normal for us:
My monster teen: (sends picture of tall closet mirror by the trash dump by our home) “Mom, this was beside the trash cans. It looks brand new.”
Me: “You have a new mirror coming in with your new bedroom furniture tomorrow. We don’t need it.”
Monster Teen: “Ok. I thought it would look good over my bed on the ceiling.”
At this point I choke on my spit. W…T…Frackadoodle in hot fudge does my 14 year old want with a mirror on the ceiling?!?!?! He’s PURE! He’s still able to touch a unicorn PURE!
Me: “What! Why would you want a mirror on your ceiling? You know who puts mirrors on their ceiling? Perverts. Or people that want a horror movie monster to come out of the mirror and get them.”
Monster Teen: ” -_-”
Me: “I’m just saying. Weirdo.”
Monster Teen: “Never mind. I don’t need to know all that.”
Monster Teen: “I’m going back to work on my chores. I don’t want that mirror anymore.”
Sometimes, I like to think my son was put into my life as a fun torture object. He has about 3 grey hairs he swears is from me hiding in closets and under his bed to scare him. He still threatens his friends with the fact that he has a psycho mom.
I’m a single mom, that was a single mom from a very young age. I was young and dumb and full of… juices… just like every teenager. Hormones and parents divorcing and arguments made me lash out, but the only person I hurt was myself, with drugs, and alcohol, and sex. So I did the very not smart and academically gifted thing I was known for, and got Cinemax with a guy, and pregnant. And became a teenage statistic.
Or I could have. Instead of becoming the whore meant for welfare and 5 more kids like my “wonderful” father predicted, I finished high school, started to work as a preschool teacher, and took night courses at the local community college. When I realized that it wasn’t enough money to really take care of my monster, I joined the military. I vowed that although I was a selfish bastard and never wanted children, I would raise try and raise a child better than I could ever be.
And so, my child-raising style may be a little unconventional, especially for this day and age. I’d rather my son fear me a bit, rather than be his friend. We talk when he’s done something wrong, but I still take my uniform belt off and spank him afterwards. We also spend loads of time together, watching anime, or heading to a museum or amusement park. I talk logically about him NOT going to college because school is so hard for him with his reading disability. Not right away anyway. We talk about sex, and not becoming a statistic. He knows how he came into being, and knows that he is very much-loved, but it’s a hard road that I took. And when I’m bored, I like to stare at him with a maniacal grin and do the sound of the scary monster chick from The Grudge. Or tell him that he was cloned. Or describe how I would cook him if we were stranded in our house without any food.
Meh, he seems well-adjusted.