So, now it is time for the next confession—I am somewhat in awe of the Albemarle Man. You know, Facebook diatribe daughter rants how awful her parents are for requiring her to do chores, North Carolina dad dispatches the instrument of her posting with his gun. I don’t approve of his methods, but I share his frustration with his teenager and the lack of acknowledgement, much less gratitude given for all the perks our kids enjoy. 

His daughter enjoys the privilege of possesing her own computer, dad spends time and money upgrading it, she has the privilege of an unmonitored Facebook account (the reason why her dad had to hack it), and in exchange for this and other assorted privileges, she is expected to complete chores in her parent’s home. Apparently this is an unbearable situation, on par with serfdom. Because she doesn’t really live there, make a mess, eat their food, use their electricity and Internet, take a shower in their home with water and supplies they pay for, or burn their gas being driven around town.

Instead, in self-righteous anger, she posts an obscenity-filled post about how downtrodden she is. I can see a parent exploding in anger at this point. The teen years are traumatic enough with the hormonal emotional roller coaster without public humiliation and degradation being inflicted by an overly-entitled adolescent. Just because we parents understand our child’s lack of perspective and self-absorption doesn’t mean we have to like it or put up with it.

Many times I have felt the urge to respond to a child’s unreasonable attitude with my own. I rarely give in, instead trying to hold that adult line of being more mature. But on a few occasions, I have let loose and dished it out as good as I got it. The most cathartic experience was the aftermath of driving the three girls across country, by myself. Imagine Chevy Chase’s Vacation without a reasonable adult to keep you balanced, more kids, whiny kids, stretches of road without restroom facilities for 200 miles, children with very small bladders, picky eaters … it was painful.

By the time I pulled into our Rancho Bernardo driveway, four turns and 3,000 miles later, I was ready to explode. In that Exorcist mom voice, I ordered my children into the house, NOW, and turned my back. When the door closed behind them, I started pitching everything that belonged to those children into the front yard. Car seats, games, toys, suitcases, snacks, all ended in a pile in my front yard. My poor husband opened the door to welcome me home, saw the look on my face, and wisely went back inside to greet me when I had a more suitable frame of mind. The physical activity of throwing things worked off my temper, nothing was broken, my children were safe inside and most likely oblivious as they re-connected with dad and grandma and all of their stuff that didn’t travel with us, and I had to clean it all up anyway and put it away, so what did it harm?

Instead of smothering my frustration and irritation or pretending it doesn’t exist, I find a strategic retort reminds my children I am human as well as lessens my aggrieved feelings. I don’t believe I will go the route of the Albemarle Dad, with the police and social service agencies making the rounds after my outburst. Too far, too controlling, too threatening. But I sympathize with his anger and frustration. Adolescence is a maddening experience for both child and parent. So, how about you?