Parenting is Hard
So when I was a kid, growing up, I knew that, when something went wrong — I mean like severely, badly, horribly wrong, or maybe just “Drat, that could have been better” — that my parents would always be there. And no matter how busy they were, no matter what was going on, I knew they would take the time to sit down and talk to me.
To explain why it was all my fault.
Later I realized that probably wasn’t their intent. I’m sure what they meant was to explore with me ways I could have avoided what happened. How I could avoid it in the future. How I could correct the mistakes.
Although, at the time, sure felt like, “Well, kid, you fucked up again.” Hey, kids, whatcha gonna do, eh?
So I learned to figure out for myself how I fucked up. I didn’t need my parents so much. Not that they weren’t there anyway, as I got older. Sometimes my sister would help because, hey, family, amiright? So I knew when I fucked up my first marriage. When I fucked up being unemployed for nine months. When I fucked up relationships. When I fucked up, y’know, just being me.
When everything that goes wrong in your life is a personal fuckup, it just becomes reflex.
But I’m sure they meant well.