I look at you sitting there politely — hands clasped, feet crossed at the ankle — and I wonder when and where it all went wrong. With your Kate Middleton-inspired hair and makeup, monogrammed sweater, pearls, Ralph Lauren oxford, starched khakis, penny loafers, and blush-polished nails, I see your image on every Pinterest board dedicated to pretty, preppy girls. You are the poster child for a sought-after adolescence: academic achievements in a private school, elite social position, athletic involvement, Ivy League hopeful.
But this footage is also proof that you’re a kid who has come to expect it. Since you aren’t getting your way, you’ve turned into an adult who has come to demand it.
I’m responding to news reports, of course, because I don’t know what’s gone on behind closed doors. Yet I seriously doubt that you grew up in a house of horrors. If your mother called you fat, and if your father invited you to drink beer with him, then that’s their misery. However, your account of psychological abuse is challenged by a rant directed toward your mother, which was laced with the filthiest words in the English vocabulary.
Have you been rebellious and disrespectful all along?
You’re the daughter of a former police chief. If a father of his professional background can’t control your tantrums, then who can? You see, that’s what bothers me. All of the pieces that promise a better shot in this world were in place. You appear to have (or have had) it all. Then, when you reportedly stepped out of line by drinking, cutting school, and dating boys who weren’t ideal, stricter rules and harsher consequences were enforced by Mom and Dad (obviously too little, too late). Now, you’re suing them.
I’m sitting here trying to figure out a way to make sure my daughters don’t turn out like you. Why? Because you, my darling, are a brat.
While I don’t know you personally, I do know of you publicly. You are not special. You are common. There are many teenagers in this world who could be your identical twin. They just haven’t dragged their parents into court and made a media spectacle out of private family matters to get even more attention.
Yes, thanks to your drama, I’m in a tight spot. I now see the dangers of giving my children too much, too soon, and too often. I pray I haven’t already established a similar pattern of expectation and delivery. I suddenly question everything I’ve ever done for them, and what their father and I intend to do in the near future. I keep repeating to myself: Everything in moderation…including parenting. But what does that mean, exactly?
Growing up as an only child, I was comfortable. When I turned 16, my mother bought a car for me to travel back and forth to a remote high school. My dad put gas in it (I could drive all week on $5). They bought the majority of my clothes and paid for a lot of my fun. Most of this support was in exchange for never giving them any trouble. But when it came to my college education, my mother was frank: “I’ll do the best I can, but you’re going to have to help.” She sold a farm in Greenbrier County, and it guaranteed 40% of my undergraduate tuition to a local university. I was awarded a partial scholarship, and I worked on campus to pay the balance due. When it came to graduate school, though, I was on my own. I got a loan. I earned a master’s degree. I found a better job. I paid off the loan.
My husband is a true do-it-yourselfer. He wanted to attend college, but the money wasn’t there. As an honor student, he could have earned scholarships, I suppose. Instead, he joined the Army, served his time, accepted GI Bill funding, graduated from engineering school, launched a career, and made a life for himself. By himself.
Now, he’s saving every nickel to help send our children to college. Unless our daughters land full scholarships or piece together enough financial aid to pay the way, they’ll owe something when it’s over. And this fact keeps us up at night. Before hearing about your little situation, I felt terribly guilty that we wouldn’t be able to give our children free rides. Now, I’m beginning to think that it would be a mistake to underwrite the entire thing. In reality, we can only save and do so much. There are limits, and you don’t seem to comprehend them. To be so bright, you don’t understand the meaning of the word “no”.
If you were my daughter, I would be thoroughly disgusted with myself. Mothers, in particular, have such high hopes for their children. We want to make life easier for them. We want to give our kids material possessions and exciting experiences that we never had. We want them to be happier. Today, I see what all of those wants can do to a child, even if they are well intended.
What I need is the courage to be a bitch now — not later. I need to remember that I am a mother, not a friend. I am a parent, not a bank. This hurts. It’s an entirely different type of labor pain. But I refuse to be afraid that my daughters won’t like me someday. I have to stress the importance of personal responsibility and accountability. What they can rely on and expect in this lifetime is unconditional love from us. But the rest is up to them.
As for you? Your family and everyone else’s family will wait for a judge to decide if children are entitled to prepaid college funds. Recent testimony revealed that after a series of infractions, your parents allegedly cut your access to a life of privilege that you took for granted. Indeed, you should go away to school. But biomedicine is the very last thing you need to learn.