Teenage Trauma...

Forgive me for the pictures today, which are all over the place - Blogger does not seem to be behaving itself.

Wonder where it gets that from?!

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,

Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit

Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,

Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

Some of my favourite lines in poetry come from the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam.

AWAKE ! for Morning in the Bowl of Night

Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight:

And Lo ! the Hunter of the East has caught

The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light.

Those of you who may be wondering where my post went from a couple of days ago - Who saw it, pondered it, commented upon it, only to see it go 'Poof!' in a whisp of smoke like a genie from a lamp, I thank you from the heart for your erudition, education and ease of communication!

I have taken your good comments on board.

You see, I did tremble a bit when I realised what exactly I was putting 'out there', for public consumption as it were and I reflected and understood that I did not have the right to do so.

...I appreciated, finally, that I was trespassing in fact on another's life, albeit my unruly man-child's.

We have these fleeting moments with our children, our tantrum-flinging teenagers. Tantermongers, I call 'em.

Do you wish sometimes, as I do, that you could turn back the moments of time, to when things were simpler; when you were younger, prettier, less lined?

Do you ever wish you could delete some memories of your own of that time?

Did you have moments of reckless abandon, of joy? Did you take calculated risks?

Looking back, I sense I was a bit of a 'Goody Two-Shoes', a bit stuffy, uptight, perhaps not much fun. I don't know where that came from, but it was me. I've never touched a cigarette in my life and have no intention of doing so. I really didn't get the taste for alcohol until my late teens - My twenties, in fact.

...I've never sniffed, snorted, sniped, licked or swallowed any substance other than that legally prescribbled. I've never rebelled.

I've shop-lifted three times. All by accident.

If someone short-changes me, I usually correct them on it. If I haven't, it's because I didn't notice the error!

I don't travel on public transport, (knowingly), without a ticket.

I've never had a tattoo (although I hanker after one in my forties!), or rogue piercing.

I try to 'Do unto others as I would have done unto me', or words to that effect.

I am good, then. I can safely say, 'Je ne regrette rien'.

But I can't help some regrets. And I can't figure out where I might have gone wrong.

So we agree to love our children in good and bad - In sickness and in health, as in the Marriage Vows, n'est-ce pas. Therefore, let us forgive our trespasses. While not precisely forgetting them.

'Will no-one think of the children?'

Revel in them, as you would in a gossamer-thin chemise on a summer's day. The scent of meadow and new spring lambs wafting through an open window. A bee buzzes against the window pane and, thankfully, moves on.

What I mean to say is, enjoy it while it lasts.

Ah, Love! Could thou and I with Fate conspire

To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,

Would not we shatter it to bits - and then

Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire !

Console yourselves then that you've been 'good enough' parents to your Teenagers.

(CLICKIE for more information on the concept of 'good enough' parenting)

They might not agree, but you have always been good enough, if not perfect.

Who wants to be perfect?

So what makes us expect it of them?

Oh, and it's Fhina by the way.

Trust me, I'm a therapist!