Illogical Parenting from a Mother's Perspective

Here we are, women of the 21st century. We were brought up in a world where technology has developed before our very eyes. With the Internet, talk shows and healthy living running rampant, we speak up, ask questions, and inform ourselves. So, why is it that we still insist on doing stupid things that make no sense simply because our parents used to do it? In one of my cases, first aid education convinced me that, contrary to my mother's beliefs, butter is not the best thing to put directly on a burn. "It's making it hurt more!" I'd say. "It's okay. It's supposed to", she'd reply. Or the night before picture day she'd insist upon putting my hair up in sponge rollers the night before. I wondered if young African girls went through this torture. I KNOW Cindy Brady did.

Secondly, I always woke up with a matted mess the next day. My hair had lumps and bumps that couldn't be tamed. My mother would then comb it out and spray it down. By the time I reached school, I had a shell of a helmet in place of hair that caused the photographer to tilt his head in confusion. He'd then smack it down more and take the picture when I wasn't ready. I wouldn't have time to hide my buckteeth so my photo would turn out terrible, yet again. So, do I protect my children from such painful rituals? Of course not! I make a big deal out of their photos, dress them up in circus-like, stiff white shirts, and finish them off with a head shalacking of Aquanet. It's tradition.

How about this one: How many of us had to get up at 3:00 a.m. to leave on a camping trip? According to my dad it was to "make good time". Good time? Good time for what? My dad would speed on the freeway like a madman to make good time. Good time for who? The Guinness Book of World Records? To be the first father to drive from Washington to California in 4 hours flat? Occasionally, my siblings and I would feel the truck come to a stop and see dad talking to a police officer. "Why is dad talking to a police officer?" we'd ask. Oh, he's probably explaining that he's going fast in order to make good time, we thought. Possibly, the KOA campground staff keeps track of "good time" and will award us with prizes when we arrive. Whatever the reason, we didn't ask. On one occasion he did slow down and actually stop. Apparently, my father had the urge to do a good deed. That was to pick up a hippy hitchhiker and toss him in the back of the truck with us. (It was probably a car pool lane bonus thing) Oh yeah, thanks dad! He says his name is Charles Manson. Oh yeah, we're fine, don't worry! So, what do I do to my family when we leave on a trip? Do I spare them? No way. "Honey, hurry up damnit!! We'll be late!!" "Late for what?" my husband replies. "Late for making good time for crying out loud!"