On Hypocrisy

                In an ideal world, potential parents would be given a manual when their children are born and instructed on how to raise those children.  Shockingly, (I know, right?!) no such thing happens.  Parents are all left to their own devices about how to instruct, mold, inspire, motivate, and discipline their charges.  I recognize that most people have at least a basic support system in the form of various family and friends, but at the end of the day, each person has to decide how they present themselves to their offspring on a daily basis.

                I would love to be able to say that I model ideal behavior, but that would be an abject lie.  I am at turns:  narcissistic, angry, petty, belligerent, condescending, selfish, impatient, pushy, and brutally honest.  To be fair, I have also been known to:  challenge, inspire, listen to, cuddle with, and genuinely love my children.  But there is one characteristic that winds its way through all of the various stages of parenting, and that is hypocrisy.  Even writing it sounds dirty, but I can say with absolutely certainty that the one thing every parent will do at some point in the child-rearing game is be a fraud. 

                I will admit to saying the following things:  “Because I said so.”  “This is not open for discussion.”  “When you have children, you can make the rules.”  (among others)  The sheer stupidity of each of these statements is staggering.  I coach debate for god’s sake, and I couldn’t think of a better retort?  Sad.  But I think I’ve stumbled on to the reason why these inane, ridiculous, childish, condescending things come out of parents’ mouths.  (Besides the obvious and omnipresent fact that we are simply tired of arguing with a child who does not possess the capacity to critically reason yet and/or has such high levels of hormones racing through their body that even normal thought is inhibited.)  The reason we say stupid shit is because we are afraid of the repercussions of the truth which might accidentally come out of our mouths. 

                I, probably more than most people, tell my children the truth about nearly everything.  I believe they need to know that the concept of Santa Claus (and Christmas in general) is a conspiratorial plot to separate people with their money on a druid tree-celebration marketed as a Christian prophet’s birthday.  (That doesn’t mean I don’t buy presents; I’m not cruel.)  Actually, I have always spoken to my children as though they were little adults; it makes the conversations much more exciting.  So when the little one comes home talking about how some little boy said the word “sexism” at school, I can explain to her the basic ideology behind gender inequality, harassment, and fallacious assumptions some people make about other people based on things which are beyond their control.

                Similarly, when the oldest one talks to me about underage drinking and drug use among the people she knows, I will listen without judgment, because I know that the fact that she is talking to me about these things means she trusts me (to some extent at least) not to freak out, overreact, and/or slap the shit out of her. 

 

                Here’s where the hypocrisy comes in.  I cannot possibly share all of the things I did in high school and college with my children.  No way.  As a matter of fact, I am self-censoring RIGHT NOW because I know that some of the people who might read this would have a fucking aneurism if I started to spew the laundry list of irresponsible, selfish, cruel, stupid, and downright illegal things that occurred from roughly ages 17 to 24 in my life.  Shameful … yet I probably wouldn’t change much of anything if I had it all to do over.  I had moments of absolute debauchery which landed me in places no parent would EVER encourage in (or even admit to) their children. 

                Does that mean I’m a deviant?  Does that mean I am “going to hell?”  (“Hell” being the absolute last-ditch effort of an ancient church which was deeply paranoid about how it was going to clutch on to the dissipating power it held over people – thus resorting to heinously making up terrifying stories to scare people straight.)  Does it mean I’m a liar, because I can’t tell my children everything I want to? 

                I’m going to say … yes and no. 

                I can’t always say what I want; it’s irresponsible (at least until they are old enough to be in-the-know, so to speak).  I would love to share those stories with them, but it is socially unacceptable and (possibly) ethically shady. 

                So since I can’t actually come out and say them all, I will allude to some of the juicier parts which I will tell them later in life with all the delicious details.

• ·         The Pink Floyd concert at Arrowhead Stadium (probably already renamed Squat-Com Park now for all I know) which I attended with both of my boyfriends.  Together.  In the same car.  And I remember seeing a bed flying through a flaming hoop on stage – no lie.
• ·         The deaths of four of my close friends from alcohol or drug related overdoses.
• ·         The three concussions from … illegal things resulting from absolute stupidity.

1. ·         The two car crashes.  Both my fault.

• ·         The .02 GPA after an entire year at UNL.
• ·         The tuition money I just … spent.  Not on tuition.
• ·         The time I skated out of the hospital and hid in a parking lot.
• ·         The several juvenile delinquents I dated along the way.
• ·         How I met my husband.  And how I lost him for a while.
• ·         A series of road trips to … Detroit, Chicago, Phoenix, Oregon, Kansas City,  Las Vegas, San Francisco …
•    Does junior year Spring Break in South Padre with 10 of my friends count here?
•   And the subsequent trips over the Mexican border where Corona is brown?
•    Or that Spring Break with my friend and I in Hawai’i when I was 19?

Good god I sound like a heathen.  No wonder I’m a hypocrite.  If you’re already a parent, you understand.  If not, just wait.  It will happen.  When it does, come talk to me.