Thanks for saying ‘no’.
Thanks for setting a curfew. At the time I thought it was ridiculous. Looking back? It seems pretty damn reasonable.
Thanks for following through. Surrendering the keys to my car sucked…but you said it would happen if I did X. I did X. It would sound trite to say I learned my lesson. I would have done X anyway…but I respected the fact that you drew the line and followed through when I crossed it.
Thanks for making sure we had dinner together every night.
Thanks for not choosing my friends or telling me who or who I could hang out with. Thanks for allowing me to come to those conclusions on my own.
Thanks for not paying me for good grades, but expecting them because you knew I was capable.
Thanks for convincing me to take the typing course. I remain unconvinced about the sewing one, but the typing one definitely came in handy.
Thanks for not rescuing me every single time. You taught me how to figure out how to get out of situations myself.
Thanks for respecting age limits. Sure, I was pissed when you wouldn’t let me see The Breakfast Club because it was rated R and yes, I went to see it anyway….but by making me wait to do things it made me appreciate them more, and it made me realize you cared about not letting me grow up too fast too soon.
Thanks for having expectations that were high, but achievable. You expected me to do well and by default I never doubted I could.
Thanks for having your own ideals, but not forcing them on me after a certain age. I know I gave you a lot of shit at the time, but I respect it now.
Thanks for letting me screw up and make mistakes.
Thanks for not buying me everything I wanted. It’s true I still carry a grudge about the Jordache jeans. And the skateboard. But you taught me the importance of working for something, of saving, of the pleasure that comes from accomplishing a goal, no matter if it’s a pair of jeans or an Xbox. You taught me I shouldn’t expect something simply because I want it.
Thanks for letting me express myself and not freaking out when I shaved the side of my head with the clippers I found in the medicine cabinet.
Thanks for always asking who I was going out with, whose car I was riding in, whose house I was going to be at.
Thanks for indulging some angst-y teenage behavior but not letting it get out of control.
Thanks for demanding a respect for adults, from teachers to relatives to the woman working behind the counter at the grocery store.
Thanks for trusting me. It made me think twice about everything I did, every decision I made. Because you trusted me, I trusted myself to make the right ones. Not every single time, but more times than not.
In a kind of anti-Golden Girls way, thank you for not being a friend. At least not until I was an adult myself.
You’ll thank me later, you said. No I won’t, I said. And yet here we are.
Thanks for not saying I told you so.