That sweet tooth of yours already got you in trouble once, kid.
But just you wait until Dad discovers the second half of the damage you did…
“Dammit, son! I thought we were done with this whole candy-peepin’ business!”
I looked up from my comic book1Well, if we’re going to be completely accurate, it was probably my Game Boy. to see one very pissed off father figure holding some papers in a tightly-clinched fist.
“What are you talking about? I haven’t gone near any of that since last month–and that was a one time thing! Believe you me, I’ve learned my lesson…” I stated, figuring that since it was a matter of fact(s), then the facts would exonerate me.
“You went and put $200 worth of your childlike foolishness on my credit card behind my back, and now this?!? Boy, I oughta beat your ass into oblivion right here and now!” he seethed through increasingly gritted teeth.
“Yes, I know–you made such a big to-do about the AOL charges last time,” I said, and I would have sighed in exasperation, but even then with my only partially-developed limbic regions of my brain–and specifically my visual cortex2https://www.forbes.com/sites/carolkinseygoman/2013/02/26/this-is-your-brain-on-body-language/?sh=322534296632,3https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Limbic_system–I could read ol’ Papa Bob’s body language and tell he was about to lose his sh*t.
(You remember the whole AOL Incident, don’t you, Dear Reader? Of course you do! You just read all about that last time…right?)
Anyways…I retroactively blame what happened next on account of my prepubescent amygdala kicking into high gear. In a truly meta moment, what little executive function I may have had at that age was not enough to stop from blurting out:
“I’m a frickin’ kid, Dad–you don’t actually expect me to have any executive function, do you?”
Ah, yes, if I had a time machine, I would go back and advise my younger self just to plead the Fifth and keep my mouth shut (not that that was a particularly self-incriminating statement, or anything).
“Don’t you try to get out of this by using your big brainiac words with me, boy!”
Did I mention that Dad’s intelligence got insulted easily?
“Oh, sh*t!”
Did I also mention that besides a love of sweets, another of my father’s legacy passed down to me was cussing like a sailor–even though I was waaaaay too young to be so proficient in potty words.
I skedaddled out of the kitchen where we had been having our discussion, through the office and into the living room, as I attempted to evade an encroaching ass-whooping.
“Get back here!” he demanded, further pursuing me on through our weird dining-room-like area and back into the kitchen.
“But I didn’t do anything!” I protested. “Whatever you’re pissed about, it wasn’t me racking up charges on your credit card this time!”
“Wait…credit card?” Dad wheezed as he stopped to catch his breathe. “Who said anything about a credit card?”
“Well, then what’s that in your hand?” I asked suspiciously, safely on the other side of the window-like opening between the dining room where Dad was now, and the living room, where I had scurried around to.
“This?!?” He held up the papers, shaking his fist at me. “This is the phone bill!”
“Oh, schnappes!” I muttered under my breath realizing what had happened.
“You can’t be angry at me about this–please!”I attempted to mount my defense. “I can explain everything…”
“I’m pretty sure I would know if candy factories or stores had 1-900 numbers that you could call and listen to them describe the experience of eating exotic sweet treats that you’ll never get to enjoy in your lifetime–” I didn’t let Dad finish his sentence.
“Wait, what? That’s a thing? Good to know, good to know…”
“NO, that is NOT a thing. Weren’t you listening to what I just said?”
I should also note that I had sort of a talent for frustrating Dad when it came to the Communications Department (and a talent for aggravating him when it came to the Actions Department).
“This clearly isn’t a 1-900 number,” he continued, “so who the hell are you calling in Amarillo in the middle of the night for hours on end? Is it the local Mrs. Bulky’s candy store down there?”
“Dad, Dad, I wasn’t talking to anyone. That’s the AOL Internet Service Provider access number…” this time Dad didn’t let me finish my sentence.
“WHAT THE HECK?!? You said you were done with AOL, you lyin’ little bastard!”
“I AM DONE WITH THEM!” I shouted back. “You already grounded me for this, don’t you remember, you old fart?”
“That was for the credit card bill. This is the phone bill, you dummy!” he retorted.
“IT WAS THE SAME CRIME! You can’t punish me twice for the same offense! That’s double jeopardy!”
“Well, your step-mother isn’t going to see it that way, and frankly, neither do I, so you can expect to be grounded another 3 weeks.”
“DOUBLE JEOPARDY! DOUBLE JEOPARDY! You can’t do this to me! Help! I’m being oppressed!” I said, making a big scene for an unseen audience.
“Son, it was $350,” he said, literally bringing the receipts up to my eye-line so I could inspect the evidence.
“Oh, damn, Dad, you need to call the phone company–those per-minute long-distance rates are tantamount to highway robbery! We can’t let such skullduggery stand!”
“Again, with the big, fancy words,” he warned me.
“Oh, right. In words you can understand: yeah, I kinda deserve another 3 weeks…”
The point of the story is–much like a progressive (or German) parent might do with their teenager when it comes to alcohol or recreational drugs–perhaps you should let your kids have sweets in moderation, where they will at least be under your supervision.
Or you could, ya’ know, just leave them to their own devices–devices like 1400 baud modems–and learn about their midnight shenanigans after the fact. Oh no, I’m sure you won’t be cleaning up after their short-sighted sh*t-show for months or years to come.
Oh, and maybe even more importantly, parents please, please, please understand its never to early to have the dreaded “technology talk” with your kids. Sure, it may be even more difficult and awkward for you than infamous “candy talk”, but I cannot stress how crucial it is.
I mean, how else are we budding Boomers going to learn how to run the latest new-fangled devices and navigate the dangers and pitfalls of the hottest social media platforms? We sure the hell ain’t going to figure it out on our own…
Content created on: 21/27/28 January 2024 (Mon/Sat/Sun)
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