Flying pacifiers

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You know how when you’re a teenager you think your parents are mean, irrational assholes?

Well I was certainly guilty of that. I knew FOR SURE that I had it way worse than any of my friends. I had an earlier curfew than everyone else, I wasn’t allowed to have boys in my room with the door closed, and MY parents wouldn’t let me ride in the back of a pickup truck–you know, because of the whole possibility of dying thing.

See? Cruel and mean.

I was convinced it was because they were constantly trying to ruin my good time. They were obviously allergic to happiness, more specifically, MY happiness.

And now.

I have teenagers.

I worry all the time. When a boy is over I yell in the den, “LEAVE THE LIGHTS ON! WHY DID YOU TAKE OFF YOUR SHOES? WHY DON’T I HEAR YOU TALKING?”

My 15 year old will find me in the kitchen, pacing, and say, “Mom, what is the matter with you? We’re just watching TV. You sound like a lunatic.”

She’s right. I sound like a completely insane person. I’ll say this again. I’m not a well woman.

Teenagers will do this to you. They MAKE you crazy. I mean I don’t think any of us grow up planning to go nutso in our 40s. Our kids decide that for us.

I was thinking back to the time I was 14 and kissed a boy for the first time. I was terrified in the beginning. I had no idea what to do. And I wasn’t sure I wanted someone else’s spit near or IN my mouth. But once I got over the initial oog factor, I was a make-out machine.

True story.

So this boy and I would sit in the game room at my house and kiss for HOURS. And then one time, the unthinkable happened. He gave me a hickey.

I looked to my friends for advice on how to cover it.

Rub it with a penny, I was told. It didn’t work.

Cover it with makeup. That just brought MORE attention to it.

Band-aid. Too obvious.

Color it in with a permanent marker to make it look like a giant mole had formed overnight. Yeah. I’m pretty sure my parents aren’t stupid.

So I did nothing. I just avoided everyone of authority as best I could.

No one said anything to me about it so I assumed I’d gotten away with it.

A few days later the boy came over and AGAIN we headed for the game room. Minutes later my step-dad appeared and tossed something in the direction of my kissing partner. He caught it and we both looked at it. It was a pacifier. My step-dad, very sternly and obviously not joking at all, said “You wanna suck on something, suck on that.”

And then he left the room.

I was humiliated and pissed off and humiliated all over again. It wasn’t long after that the boy left. I’m not sure I ever kissed him again.

Now I realize my step-dad did exactly as he should have. He wasn’t trying to be mean, or ruin my good time. He was sending a message and the message very loudly screamed, Don’t Hurt This Girl.

And now I’m the one tossing pacifiers at boys who come to my house. It’s a terribly worrisome job, but someone has to do it.