I want to like my parents. Really. I do. But they just make it so difficult.

I have finally come to a point where I can tell them when they piss me off. It took me a long time to speak my mind to them after years of being stifled with threats of no car for the weekend, grounding, making my daily life miserable, etc.

So, standing in their kitchen the other day while dropping off various items of affection, I bring up a friend I’m going to visit in NYC around the holidays. A friend that my mom was never very nice to and somehow thought was a bad influence on me (we were the nerdiest bookworms around…I’m not talking crazy, trouble-making girls) and my mom was constantly making it difficult for me to spend time with said friend. She had some reason why I wasn’t allowed to spend the night at her house. I don’t know…don’t ask me about my mother’s reasoning. I mentioned this after mom says “Oh, I always liked her.” I said “No, you didn’t! You were always mean to her and saying she was a bad influence and you had some weird rule about me not spending the night at her house!”

“Oh, did I?” she replies in her ultimate denial voice. “Well, I’m sure there was a good reason.”

At this point, my step-dad (who wasn’t even around during this friendship) pipes up with, “Well, you turned out alright; it didn’t scar you for life, now did it?” I just giggled uncomfortably and looked away. Maybe it did! Maybe they did scar me for life. How the heck would he know, because the scars are so deep I could never discuss it with them! Maybe he feels my anger radiating at this point and adds, “Well, we know you have all the answers and you will be the perfect parent. You can write the book.”

Hence, my new project: the book, Perfect Parenting, by Me.

Chapter One: Don’t Have Kids

And that about sums it up. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love kids. I want kids. I’m 25. I’m married. No kids….yet. Who knows?

Maybe that’s part of the parent/child relationship: Scarring each other, but being able to get over it. Maybe we shouldn’t have our own children until we can accept the mistakes are parents made as part of what we’ve become so we can understand how those mistakes shaped us. Maybe there’s a few mistakes they made I’m thankful for. Maybe I need to dig a little deeper and find out what those are. Maybe we can pick and choose the mistakes we make. Maybe we can shape our children the way we want them to be. And maybe, they’ll be just as rebellious and scarred and ungrateful as I was…am. And maybe that’s not all that bad.