“Hey, Mom?”
Silence.
I knew she was around, and I could feel the weight of trouble looming over me. I dropped my backpack and tiptoed through the kitchen, realizing it was time to face the music.
“Mom?”
As I reached the staircase, an odd scent wafted through the air. Was that—cigarette smoke? Neither of my parents were smokers. My heart raced, and I hurried up the stairs. The odor intensified as I approached the landing. Her bedroom door was closed, so I knocked gently. No response. I opened the door cautiously and stepped inside.
There she was, lying under the covers with a lit cigarette in one hand and a nearly empty glass of brandy on the bedside table.
Oh no, I thought. I must be the worst kid ever.
My mom has always been the epitome of calm. Our kitchen towels read “Keep Calm and Carry On,” and her demeanor resembles that of the wise, no-nonsense Violet Crawley from Downton Abbey—proper, serious, with a hidden sense of humor. When she was upset, her icy glares felt like they could freeze time. So, what on earth led her to this state? Four simple words:
I was a teenager.
Thirteen, to be exact, filled with hormones that led to questionable decisions, like wearing a scarf as a top to parties and sneaking out to meet boys in the school vestry—at my Catholic school, where she worked as a teacher.
In retrospect, her reaction may seem a little over the top. But I attribute it to two things: 1) My stellar behavior leading up to that point, and 2) the countless teens (my buddies included) she had seen spiral out of control. To her, kissing boys was just the beginning of a downhill slide that could lead to drugs and skipping school.
To her surprise, that wasn’t the end, but I definitely gave her a run for her money for a while. Fortunately, the next year I headed off to boarding school. It turned out that when I was left to my own devices, I was essentially just like her (and Violet): prim and proper. The rest of my teen years went smoothly.
But deep down, I’ve always felt I owed her an apology for those tumultuous times. Parents of teenagers, take heart; your child might one day feel the same remorse I do now. Here goes:
Dear Mom,
Remember that moment when I said “I hate you”? If only I had finished my thought; it really meant “I hate you because you’re way smarter than I am and you always catch me in my antics. You won’t let me have any fun, but I know it’s all out of love, which annoys me even more because then I feel guilty, and the things I wanted to do don’t seem nearly as exciting anymore. So yes, your methods work, even if I resent them.”
I thought I hated you, yet I knew you loved me. I still made choices that put my feelings above yours, while you always prioritized what was best for me. Thank you for being the responsible adult I thought I was ready to be (but clearly wasn’t).
I also owe you apologies for the lunchroom fiasco, the “skort” debacle, the concert night, and that incident with Jennifer, which I hope you’ve managed to forget.
There are countless other things I owe you an apology for, but since you’re blissfully unaware of most of them, I think it’s best to leave those buried.
Much love,
Your Daughter, a.k.a. Your Former Teenaged A-Hole
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In summary, even though teenage years can create chaos for parents, the love and lessons learned during that time shape relationships for the better in the long run.