Greetings, my fellow port swillers!
Numerous recent conversations with the gels, all of whom are now very much either teens or pre-teens, produces in ol’ Robbo a sense of paradox.
On the one hand, the gels go to great length, each in their own fashion, to suggest that Dad is some kind of combination of dinosaur, nerd, snob, misfit and Looo-sah. The phrase, “Your problem is that you live in the 18th Century” has more than once wafted into Robbo’s shell-like.
Well, what can I say? Guilty as charged.
Curiously, though, although these charges are served up in the je accuse style, I can’t help noticing behind the bluster a certain sentiment that may be roughly described as, “Um, thanks.”
At least, that’s my perception and I’m sticking to it….
The Port Stands At Your Elbow 
3 comments
Comments feed for this article
May 15, 2013 at 6:52 pm
quiltbabe
Aching to spread their wings and fly, but unsure if they are able. They need the social out of being able to say “my parents won’t let me”. We all long to be protected, but not that the protection is obvious.
May 16, 2013 at 1:23 am
Robbo
I hear that a lot. And both Mrs. R and I have made plain to the gels that the “my doofus mom and dad won’t let me” excuse is perfectly fine with us, however it makes us look in their peers’ eyes.
May 16, 2013 at 1:28 pm
NOVA Curmudgeon
An oh so familiar tactic. Often followed by “well so and so’s parents let them.” Truth be told as we found by talking with other parents, that was not the case. Once the kiddos learned we we actually talked to other parents things quieted down significantly.